The Windsword Clan
by gythia
Summary: The lives of the Sheridans, Rangers, and Windswords go on after the events of Punch. B5/ Time Yarns crossover.
1. Chapter 1

The Windsword Clan

The Windsword Clan

Chapter One: The Empty Room

Life on a quarantined plague ship can be a little claustrophobic. Some crewmembers, including Whitestar 97's new captain, Khunnier, sought out the ship's most open spaces. He was on the bridge when he did not need to be, and mostly in the viewing room at other times.

But Firuun spent most of his time holed up in the ship's appendix, where he felt closest to Carla. The first time he had crawled back in there after her death, he had been afraid he would find the space closed down, like a collapsed balloon. But the grotto light welcomed him just the same as it ever had. He spent a lot of time in there crying. And eventually, the tears passed like a summer storm across the age-old battlefields of Minbar, and the cool, sad blue sun came out again.

Firuun quietly entered the practice hall and sat down against the wall, watching a pitifully reduced group trying to keep alive the ship's tradition of the weekly denn'bok tournament. Everyone in the crew had recovered sufficiently by now so that there was no health reason they could not fight, but barely a dozen people showed up, and of those, only 8 came to fight. The rest, like Firuun, only came to watch.

Pike crashed against Pike, the sound almost comforting in its familiarity. But the end came, and there was no prize. No famous Captain Punch to fight.

"Clan Chief," said one of the fighters, "you've been the substitute prize before. Would you fight the winner?" The young Windsword gestured to the opponent who had just beaten him, a cousin of some kind.

"Mmm." Firuun considered it, sounding like the hum of a mechanical engine of some earlier time. "I don't think I dare spar, in this mood. I might harm someone."

The winner bowed respectfully. "Of course, Clan Chief." He and his cousin put away their denn'boks, and the spectators stood up and began to mill about.

All except Firuun, but he was so tall that he could carry on a nearly eye to eye conversation with Milenn while he was sitting down. She approached him, uncharacteristically disheveled, having participated in the tournament.

"Well, I lost in the first round, of course," Milenn began. "I didn't expect any different. I usually didn't participate before. But it seems a shame to lose the tradition, so I'm hoping I can help keep it alive until more people recover."

"That's a fine idea," Firuun rumbled.

"Is it true we're all going home today?"

"It's true. The medics have cleared us."

"At last. Nobody's really been sick for months."

"Nobody would have been sick at all if I'd been in a proper quarantine the first time," Firuun reminded her. "I was completely well when I was released, and passed all the physical exams to be sent home for a time for mental recovery. That was why Dilis was exposed to it in the first place."

"I know, I know," Milenn said. "It's just gotten to feel so cramped in here! I know the air can't really go stale, since the ship manufactures it, but it feels like it anyway. And they let the humans go home weeks ago."

"It doesn't go dormant in humans and flare up later," Firuun said tiredly.

"I know. I'm sorry to be so redundant, Clan Chief. I'm just excited to be going home."

"Mm."

The pause stretched on a little too long, and Milenn bowed and excused herself.

A few hours later, Whitestar 97 landed on the surface of Minbar in a howling blizzard. The crew raced off and into the clan fortress. As soon as the last of them were in, they slammed the door on the freezing wind.

Renbor complained, "All that time cooped up on the ship, and now we'll be cooped up in here!"

"It's bigger in here," said the gunner. "You'll like it here. Clan Imbalo has very nice guest quarters."

Firuun let those who lived year round in the clan fortress see to the guests, and went to the large, spare suite of rooms he had taken over from Calann. He and Carla had never gotten to share this space as husband and wife. The time she had been to the clan fortress, she was a guest with her own quarters separate from his.

They had held a denn'bok tournament, Firuun remembered. And Sheridan had managed to stick his foot in his mouth. Had Carla been amused or aghast at the icy silence that had followed? Firuun could not remember now. Nor could he remember how things had warmed up again, or who said what after that. He would give anything to have that day back again, when he and Carla were carefree and happy.

Firuun went into the sitting room and came face to face with Carla's wedding gown, displayed on the wall. Who had put it there? Perhaps Carla had ordered it done, in anticipation of living in these rooms, at least while on vacation from the ship. She would have enjoyed looking at it, and remembering the one perfect day, the day of their wedding, a day of pure joy, even if it was sandwiched in between meeting a dalshon who had once used her in the work details, and being attacked by Teshar.

Firuun felt a surge of emotion, and thought he was going to start weeping, but he found he had gotten past the tears while on the ship.

There was a knock on the door. As if Firuun's earlier thoughts had summoned him, when he opened the door he found Sheridan holding a bottle. Delenn was right behind him, and a group of four Rangers fanned out behind him, probably his Presidential bodyguards.

"I heard you were coming home today, so I thought I'd come by to welcome you back to Minbar, and help celebrate your freedom." Sheridan handed him the bottle. "Don't worry, it's nonalcoholic bubbly. Wouldn't want you to go homicidal on me."

"What makes you think I need to be drunk to do that? That's two wives you've cost me now, Starkiller."

Sheridan's eyebrows shot up. Delenn, browless, nonetheless wore a similar expression of shock. Sheridan's honor guard had stopped looking bored, presumed safe inside this fortress of allies. They had their guns out and were pointing them at Firuun.

Sheridan cleared his throat. "I'm s—" he remembered that last time Firuun had told him not to apologize. "Wait, I thought you hated your first wife."

"I did," Firuun boomed. "Well, come on in. You can tell the Anla'shok to relax."

Sheridan and Delenn looked back at the Rangers, and Delenn ordered them to stand down. They lowered their weapons nervously, and kept alert as they came into Firuun's private sitting room. The Rangers, 3 humans and 1 Minbari, took up guard stances, 2 inside and 2 outside the door.

Sheridan and Delenn dropped them from their attention like forgetting a tool that one had set down. Firuun supposed the two of them must be used to going everywhere with bodyguards, as the Alliance's first couple.

Firuun and his guests took seats on the antique chairs, carved of stone and padded with embroidered silk upholstery. He set the bottle down on a stone table. "Later on I'll have someone bring some glasses. There are no communications panels in here. Not like a ship, with intercoms everywhere. This fortress is very old. We're lucky to have plumbing and electric lights."

"Yeah, a lot of buildings on Minbar are like that," Sheridan agreed, cautiously trying out a smile.

"This really was a nice gesture, John. I just miss Carla."

"Of course you do. You loved her. Hell, I miss her, and most of my memories of her are horrifying."

"Mmm? Oh. Of course. You mean the Centauri pirate base."

"Yes. Did, um, did she ever tell you… much? Um."

Delenn shifted uneasily. "John, do you really think this is a good time to bring that up?"

"No," Sheridan said. "But at least it can't kill the great time we're having."

Firuun said, "She was never very specific about that. I gather the pirates did things to both of you."

"Um, yes." Sheridan scratched his hair and cast about for a change of topic. Delenn was right, there was no good time to tell someone that kind of thing. "Ah. Any news from the source world?"

"Nothing but ISN," Firuun boomed with enthusiasm, equally grateful for the change of topic. "At least 'Lehba' has managed not to show her face on the news. So far they still think 'he' is Desnaran."

"That's got to be a precarious balancing act she's doing," Sheridan said.

Firuun shrugged, a human gesture he had picked up from Carla. "I don't know Dilis anymore."

Delenn leaned forward. "How terrible that must be. She is your only remaining child. I cannot imagine ever becoming estranged from David. It would break my heart."

"Where is David?" Firuun asked.

"He has a nanny, a young female Anla'shok who joined because it's her family tradition, and had no passion for combat or intelligence operations. We found her something more suited to her temperament."

Sheridan grinned, "Of course, she tells her family she's his bodyguard."

"Which she is," Delenn said. "If it came to it."

"They grow up while we aren't looking," Firuun said. "Then we turn around and there they are. Changed." He shook his head. "Well, perhaps if Dilis had had a Ranger as a mentor instead of a Dilgar war criminal, she would have turned out differently."

"If she had turned out differently," Sheridan said, "she wouldn't have the knowledge or the sample to save the Earth."

"True. I take it you've had plastic surgery."

"The best."

"If I didn't know any better, I would think nothing had ever happened to your face."

"That's the idea," Sheridan grinned.

"I'm glad you're alright, John."

"Thanks, Firuun. I hope you'll be alright soon too."

Firuun sighed and relaxed. "Why don't you send one of your Rangers to the kitchen for some crystalware."

Sheridan nodded to Delenn, and she turned and gave the order. The Anla'shok still looked wary, but none of them made an issue of having one of their number away. The Ranger's detachment leader pointedly sent the Minbari, though. Which meant that all those who remained would have no problem killing Firuun, if necessary. No moral problem, anyway. The giant warrior was unarmed, but still looked like he could defeat three humans with guns without breaking a sweat. Not that Minbari sweat.

"Trusting bunch, aren't they?" Firuun commented.

"They live for the One, they—" Sheridan cut himself off. "Ah. I guess that's really not funny."

"For a politician, you sure aren't very good at off the cuff remarks."

Sheridan laughed. "Good thing I don't have to run in elections."

The Minbari Ranger came back with three cylinders. Firuun opened the bottle and poured.

"A toast," Sheridan said. "To Carla."

"To Carla."

They clinked their glasses together, Delenn a second late as she responded to the unfamiliar custom. Then they toasted Carla with fizzy apple cider.

"She would never have drunk this stuff," Firuun said. "If we really want to honor her, we should go get in a bar fight."

"I decline," said Delenn.

Sheridan grinned. "I think my house guards are already nervous enough."

"Too bad. It would have been fun."

The End


	2. Chapter 2

The Windsword Clan

Chapter 2: Nelonn's Second Apprenticeship

"Did he hear you?" Venmer asked.

"Yes."

"Quite impressive. Speaking to someone across interstellar distances. You have a powerful mind, Nelonn."

"Me?"

Venmer smiled and poked Nelonn's forehead. "Yes, you."

"It's just that, before I became a telepath, nobody really thought much of my mind."

"There are all different kinds of talent, my boy. The kind measured by tests of mathematics and literacy tells me nothing of power, and nothing of compassion either. Your first thought on learning of the death of the Captain you so admire was not how much you were going to miss her, but how much Firuun would. That speaks well of your character."

"Thank you, Master Venmer. But if this is the lead-up to another plea to consider a religious vocation, save your breath." He continued mentally, 'and your mind-light as well.'

Venmer laughed. "No, I have quite given up on dissuading you from your chosen path. Though I am quite pleased you are planning to put the non telepath skills in counseling you've picked up from me to good use in your clan. I imagine you'll probably want to return to the clan fortress as soon as the crew of Whitestar 97 is released from quarantine to go home."

"Yes."

"That will be some time yet. But your apprenticeship will be finished by then."

"You sound very certain, Master."

"Nelonn, I have nothing further to teach you. You have already surpassed me. I have only been thinking of excuses to hang onto you." He held up a hand. "Not to persuade you to become a counselor like me. But because you have years yet before you will be old enough to apply to the Anla'shok."

"Of course." Nelonn nodded unhappily.

"Do not worry, the time will come soon enough. But you could consider a second apprenticeship. After you help your clan in its grief."

"Oh? I know that mind-feeling, Venmer. You think I have growth-work left to do. I am not one of your patients, you know."

"I am quite well aware of that, my clever apprentice. But tell me. Why did you choose me as your Master, and not Brinon of Clan Doshal?"

Nelonn suppressed a shudder. "Khunnier recommended you." Nelonn opened his mind to Venmer and replayed Khunnier's description of Venmer's work, and how it would relate to covert intelligence gathering.

"Yes, I see. Most astute, I think. But you are also afraid of Brinon. Or rather, what he represents."

Nelonn tried to deny it, but the words never reached his mouth. It was quite impossible to deceive himself about anything around Venmer. "That's a little annoying, you know," Nelonn said. "No wonder you're not nearly as in demand at parties as you are in your professional capacity."

Venmer laughed again. "Nelonn, Nelonn, you are growing into quite a wit, my boy." But then he turned serious. "What is Brinon?"

Nelonn shrugged. "A telepath. A fairly weak one, as I understand it."

"Brinon is a Minbari military interrogator. Ah! You flinched."

"I can't help it," Nelonn whispered.

"I know. Because when your telepathic gift first manifested, you were serving aboard Captain Punch's Whitestar. And you ended up inside her nightmares."

Nelonn nodded. "I have a head full of all kinds of other peoples' traumas now, Venmer. That's what you do all day."

"None of my patients' thoughts are quite that troubling. Carla Punch's memories are a whole order of difficulty greater. Not least simply because she was human."

Again, Nelonn nodded. There were times when he relived her dreams and woke up and looked down at himself, and was afraid. Of himself. Because he was Minbari.

"Someday, if you are accepted for Anla'shok training, you will have to face your fears. And if you do not rid yourself of this one before you get there, I am very much afraid they may send you on the kind of training exercise that would make it worse."

"Like what?" Nelonn asked warily.

"You and I know that one does not help someone recover from trauma by retraumatizing them. But they will not be thinking that way. I do not know any more than the general public knowledge about the Anla'shok, so I do not truly know how they would go about preparing their recruits for the possibility that they might be captured. But they must have some provision for it; before the Anla'shok became the commanders of the Whitestar Fleet, they were primarily intelligence gatherers from time beyond the mist. Solitary wanderers, with no ship and no fleet and no weapon but a denn'bok."

"What is it, Venmer? You have some kind of personal knowledge, I can sense it. One of your former patients?"

"No, just someone I sat beside once in commercial transport. A young Earth Force soldier on his way back from training to shore leave somewhere. I wish I had offered to help him, but at the time, just sitting next to a Minbari was a challenge for him. I got that impression very distinctly, although I'm sure a non telepath would not have noticed."

"He was so troubled by his training that you couldn't block it out? Mind-screams?"

"Yes. It is said that our military caste changes its traditions only reluctantly, and only in response to the lessons of the latest war. The human military must be much the same. In any case, it appears to be a human tradition to prepare warriors with certain types of assignments in which they are more exposed and more likely to be captured in battle, fighter pilots for example, for the possibility that they might have to withstand interrogation. And they do this by creating mock POW camps and actually subjecting them to various methods. Not intending to actually break anyone, you understand. Intending to show them that they can get through it. Give them an easy victory to bolster their confidence, like attacking a meaningless civilian target early in a war."

"Only for this man it was not easy, and not a victory, and his confidence was ground into dust." Nelonn looked out the window. It was a beautiful day outside. The sun was shining, and far away it glinted off the crystal spires of the city.

"Understand, he knew of course that the people playing the parts of the enemy were really other Earth Force soldiers. He knew they would not kill him, or maim him. There was a level of trust there that, say, you could never have in the same kind of training, if the Anla'shok decided to send you to it."

"That would be stupid," Nelonn said. "Send Minbari to be play-interrogated by Earth Force? It could turn into the real thing all too easily. Surely if the Rangers wanted their recruits to have that kind of training they would do it themselves. Not outsource it to Earth."

"True. But most of the Anla'shok are humans now."

Nelonn blinked and thought. He could picture what Venmer must be picturing: the Anla'shok creating the same kind of training, and having human Anla'shok run it. "Surely any humans who join the Anla'shok would not be racially hostile to me."

Venmer was shaking his head. "Don't picture humans. Picture Minbari."

And a wave of cold fear passed over Nelonn. "In Valen's name," he whispered. "You're right. These are Carla's fears. They've become part of my subconscious."

"I think perhaps you should meet Brinon. At least once. Consider a second apprenticeship, but you do not need to decide until after you are done helping your fellow Windswords through the loss of Captain Punch. That may be many months. But you could meet Brinon now. Talk to him on the comm first, then go out to visit. I'll be with you, at least at first."

Nelonn nodded. He recognized what Venmer was doing. "Exposure protocol," Nelonn said. "First look at a picture of the fear object, then meet it in person with you, and then without you."

"Yes."

"Alright. There's no reason I can't meet him. I'll be there as a potential apprentice, not an enemy prisoner. Nothing's going to happen to me."

"Quite right," Venmer said, nodding decisively. "I will arrange it."

\

That was how Nelonn came to be standing in a Minbari war cruiser, once again wearing the black war armor of his caste. Not the same set he had put aside before becoming Venmer's apprentice, of course. He had grown a lot since then, both growing taller and filling out with muscle, and was starting to show a striking family resemblance to his clan chief.

Venmer was leaving. 'Don't go. I'm not ready,' Nelonn thought at him.

'Yes, you are,' Venmer thought back. 'I know you are on edge. But you can handle this, Nelonn.'

Brinon waited while Venmer boarded the personnel pod in a swirl of gold robes. "Mine, all mine," Brinon said. But he said it with the kind of gentle humor that Venmer himself might have used. "Come, Nelonn. Let's speak in my office."

The two of them went to the rather small room, lined with shelves full of data crystals. There was a holographic projector in the ceiling and a crystal port built into the wall, and no desk or chairs. That was normal for a Minbari office.

"Alright, I know what's been going on," Brinon said. "I apprenticed with Venmer myself, seventy years ago, so I know Exposure Protocol when I see it. Would you please level with me about why you are afraid?"

"You did?" Nelonn asked.

Brinon nodded. "There are very few military telepaths. Even those few born to the military caste usually leave when they discover their talent. Because, except for the Shadow War, there isn't much for a military telepath to do, except for interrogations. In the Shadow War, I was prepared to try to disrupt a Shadow vessel, but I wasn't strong enough. I'm a very weak telepath, Nelonn. I can only read surface thoughts, and only from other Minbari. With aliens all I can get is truth-sense. Which is very useful, to know whether they're lying, but I've wished so many times I could simply look in and see what I need to know. I don't like the things I have to do sometimes."

Nelonn mentally filled in the blanks with Carla's memories, and turned away.

"OK, that flash of fear would be obvious even to a non telepath," said Brinon. "You've got somebody else's memories in there, don't you?"

Nelonn nodded. "I should have realized you would understand. When your telepathic gift manifested itself, did you know what was going on?"

"Not at first. But no, I didn't drop into peoples' minds and memories unintentionally, like what happens with most new telepaths. I'm just not strong enough."

"Oh."

"Whose?" Brinon asked.

"What?"

"Whose memories?"

"Carla Punch's."

"Your Captain? I see. You clearly think I should have heard of her, and her name would explain everything."

"You don't watch human news."

"No. When I need to know something, I'll be told."

"They are memories of Tifar."

"Oh. I see. You're living with the memories of a loribond victim."

"Every second of every day," Nelonn said. "Because I am one. But Carla's memories surface at odd times, too. Especially now, with her death."

"What?"

"It's a long story. A human did it to me. And Captain Punch hunted her down and killed her own kind to protect me."

Brinon nodded. "We used to use that stuff on our own people, you know. I've been serving on war cruisers long enough to remember those days. There are several people serving on this ship who have accidental bonds to their former alyt. Who died of old age, as it happened, but before then they were kept carefully away from him, after the discovery of the loribond."

There was a pause. Brinon said, "So. Want to see the scary stuff?"

"What stuff?"

"The portable field interrogation station. Every war cruiser has one, you know."

Nelonn waited for a memory to surface, but the only one that came to him was a memory of viewing the Sheridan Vs. Recnar highlight reel. He shrugged, a gesture copied from Carla. "OK."

They went down and looked at it. It was kept in the cargo bay. Brinon opened it up. There was a platform in the middle, recording equipment on one side, and storage on the other side. He opened the drawers and cabinets and showed Nelonn some of the instruments.

Brinon said, "Most of this stuff isn't really very useful. Fear only clouds the mind. And threats and pain are equally good at producing lies and silence. It's much easier to get a good read off someone when they're calm. Better to just chat with them, slip in a question now and then as an aside. If they figure out what you're doing, you can always move on to this later. But the point at which you have to stop pretending to be their friend and try actual torture is usually the point at which you don't get anything more useful out of them. I gave up on using this kind of stuff way back during the Dilgar War."

"But…" Nelonn prompted.

"Yes, you could tell there was a but coming. Reading me, or just guessing? Never mind, it doesn't matter. We still practice with this stuff. Yes, practice."

Nelonn took an involuntary step back. His mind shrieked in fear.

Brinon put his hands over his ears briefly. "Eh, calm down, kid. Learning how to use this stuff is part of the job. But if you ever actually do use it for real you've already failed." He closed the station back up. "If you become my apprentice, you will learn to use these things. But mostly we'll practice the useful way."

"The moral way?" Nelonn asked.

"That too. I see you've figured that out."

"Using a telepathic gift for interrogation is the alternative to using—this stuff, as you say."

"No. That's not it. What I can do with my telepathy, it only enhances the befriending method. I can't just reach into someone's mind and pull out what I want. All I get is knowing whether they're telling me the truth, except when I do other Minbari. And the only time that's ever happened outside of training is after the Tifar Rebellion. They brought me some mayor to interrogate about deals with Shadow servants."

"I don't understand," Nelonn said.

"The befriending method is the alternative. Whether you're a telepath or not. This stuff, this stuff is for louts. Big dumb warriors in the field, towing this stuff around like… never mind. Let me put it this way. When I asked you whose memories you had, would you have told me the name if you'd been strapped to this platform instead of having a friendly conversation in my office?"

"No."

"There. That's what I mean."

"Oh. I think I see."

"Come on, let's get out of this cargo bay." They walked to one of the public spaces of the ship, a quiet area of portholes where they could see the stars.

"There's so much room on this ship," Nelonn commented. "Whitestars are cramped."

"How powerful a telepath are you, Nelonn?"

He shrugged. "If we have ratings like the humans, I've never heard of it."

"We don't. But you seemed surprised when I told you I couldn't just pull out whatever information I want."

"Venmer does that," Nelonn said. "I've seen him pull out memories people didn't even know they had. Things they had suppressed. And he taught me how to do that too."

Brinon shrugged. "I've seen him do it too. But if I had a talent like that, I don't think I would have stayed with the military caste. If I could do what Venmer does, I would have stayed with him."

"Go religious, become a counselor?"

"Yes. But my talent wasn't strong enough for that. It is useful for this, though. Aliens lie a lot."

"I haven't had much experience with alien minds, except humans. I suppose there might be some I couldn't read. Or could only read partially, like your truth-sense."

"I don't get much practice in peacetime," Brinon said, "except when I am occasionally brought in on a criminal case, like the mayor. So I practice on the crew. Not like that. Calm yourself, Nelonn. They don't know I'm doing it. I decide I want to find out something. Like, what kind of industry is in someone's home town. Or, what was the last ship they served aboard. Or where did they take their last shore leave. I talk to people in the mess hall. Everyone on board thinks I'm a real slacker because I'm always hanging out having hot beverages and shooting the breeze."

Nelonn smiled a little. For the first time, he relaxed around Brinon.

"Try it," Brinon encouraged. "Practice on me. Decide what question you want answered and see if you can get me to say it, without making it obvious what you're doing. Let's say you're interested in current troop movements. You want to know if my ship transported any ground combat soldiers recently, and if so where. See if you can get that to just fall out in a normal conversation."

Nelonn shrugged one shoulder. "It hasn't."

"Hmm?"

"You thought about the last time this ship transported troops when you thought of the question. It was during the Earth-Minbari war, 8 full companies, and they went to Rulomo."

"Well—OK. Your telepathic gift is right up there with Venmer's, isn't it?"

"I'm not a very bright person, Brinon. Until my telepathy switched on, my greatest talent was denn'bok fighting. I wouldn't have the first clue how to maneuver a conversation like that. But if I just ask questions, you'll think of the answers. And then I'll know."

"People can resist that, if they realize you're doing it," Brinon said.

"Subterfuge," Nelonn said. "I think you do have something to teach me, Brinon. When I'm done with an upcoming project."

"Good."

The End


	3. Chapter 3

Windsword Chapter 3

Author's Note: Nelonn/ Brinon. There is no sex but it is slashy. Don't like? Don't read.

"So let's see your list," Brinon said. They were in Brinon's tiny office.

Nelonn handed over the data crystal. He had a smug expression on his face, and was radiating pride and satisfaction and just plain fun.

Brinon put it in the reader. "At first glance, it seems you have an answer for every question. I'll go over them later to see how complete the answers are, but very good job. Did you run into any aliens you couldn't read?"

"No, none. There were some I couldn't get actual words from, but I got visual images and feelings, and of course that truth-sense you taught me. Going to the public spaces in the Interstellar Alliance capitol was brilliant. And so exciting! I saw people I didn't even know what they were."

"Well, we have to take advantage of our time on Minbar. Now speaking of that, you haven't been home since you arrived from your stint at grief counseling. Would like a real leave, in addition to your assignment in the capitol?"

"Not really. There's no one there right now. Well, no one I care about seeing. All my favorite relatives are on Whitestar 97. Well, except for my parents of course, but they're on the Blue Horizon."

"Ah. Of course." Brinon shut down the computer readout. "You're really blossoming at this kind of work, Nelonn. You don't seem to have any of those old fears left. I think you're ready to learn how to use the field station."

Nelonn's eyes widened. "But who would I practice on?"

"We practice on each other, of course. Don't worry, it doesn't have to hurt. Come on."

Nelonn followed Brinon down to the cargo hold in trepidation.

Brinon reassured him, "Remember I told you I don't believe in torture. It's worse than useless, it makes people nearly impossible to read and very likely to lie."

"I remember."

"The computer and recording equipment is pretty standard," Brinon continued. "Some of the pharmaceuticals can be useful for first aid, if you know how to use them. But they are also the most dangerous things we have. I'll download all the pertinent manuals and trainings for you to study."

They came to the portable field interrogation station and opened it up. First Brinon showed his apprentice all the computer equipment. Then he showed him how to fold the platform up and down and secure it in various positions. "You can also secure people on it in various positions. I'll show you that later, since being bound is one of the scariest things. Later in the week we'll work up to that. Whenever I show you something, I will do it to you first, and then you will do it to me."

Then Brinon went through a complete inventory of the various instruments of torture. Nelonn never said out loud that he was afraid, but of course Brinon was a telepath. "Not everything in here started out as interrogation gear," Brinon said. "Most of these things were invented for other purposes. All of the drugs except for the pain enhancers were, for example. Some of them have a fascinating history."

"I know more than I ever wanted to about the one that isn't there," Nelonn said.

"Of course. Loritril. Which as you know, began its life as a psychiatric drug. Just like it did, most of these things were invented for perfectly benign purposes."

Brinon pulled out the sucker wire set. "This, for example, was actually invented as a spa treatment."

Nelonn vented nervous laughter.

"Do you trust me, Nelonn?"

"That's a helluva thing to ask someone when you're holding a set of sucker wire in your hand, Brinon."

"It's all in the placement and intensity and the alternation. And this." He pointed to a toggle switch. It was marked Surface on one side and Deep on the other. "Surface stands for surface shocks. That's pain, although actually some people experience it as pleasure, if they're hardwired that way. But this, Deep. That is for stimulation of the muscles, and it is actually a form of massage. It makes the muscles bunch up and then relax. It can be used to cause pain, too. If the intensity is too high, or the alternation too slow, it can cause muscle cramps. If the alternation is too fast, it can make someone jerk like they're having a seizure. But if it's done just perfectly, it is still a spa treatment. Take off your shirt."

Nelonn hesitated. He had overcome the lingering effects of sharing some of Capt. Punch's nightmares, but this was not Carla's fears rearing their heads, it was perfectly normal fear that anyone might have.

"I promise you will like it."

Nelonn removed the top piece of his black war armor and set it in the empty drawer that Brinon pulled open. So that was what the empty drawer was for. The subject's belongings.

"Turn around."

Again Nelonn hesitated.

Brinon could feel his fear. "You will not be bound in any way. You are not a prisoner. You can pull off the suction cups and simply walk away any time you wish. You're safe, Nelonn."

Nelonn turned around.

Brinon placed two suction cups high up on Nelonn's back on either side of his spine. "Placement is important," Brinon said. "Try to get the suction cups right here, in this part of the muscle. Now relax. Relax, Nelonn. I'm going to switch it on."

Brinon worked the control box and Nelonn's big shoulder muscles bunched and released.

Nelonn gasped, held his breath wide-eyed for a moment, and then sighed. "Oh. That's nice. It's nice, Brinon!"

"Yes. See? Just like a massage." Brinon shut it off and Nelonn made a little noise of protest. Brinon laughed. "For the full effect, I'll place them all along the sides of your spine. It's important to get them in matched pairs, like this." Brinon placed more of the suckers. "Lie down, Nelonn" He gestured to the platform. "It's alright, you won't be secured in. Just lie down and relax."

Reluctantly, Nelonn lay face down on the slanted platform. His arms dangled. Brinon turned the machine back on, and Nelonn relaxed and lost all his nervousness. 'It feels good!' he exclaimed in his mind.

Brinon replied telepathically, 'I know. Next you'll do me. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to it. I'm too old to be able to reach my own back to place the suction cups. So I can't give myself the full spa treatment. Just some occasional shoulder work.'

'Why don't you go to a spa, if this is a real spa treatment?'

'It was a spa fad for about a decade, long ago. Ever since the military started using it as a form of torture, it lost its appeal, at least to the normal spa crowd. You can still have it done at Domenn's House of Pleasure, but… that isn't a spa. It tried it once. She does it the painful way."

Nelonn made an urk sound and blocked the images. He did not want to know about old fogeys' sex lives. Except as part of his work, of course, but he was no longer working with Venmer and did not have to think about that anymore.

"Sorry," Brinon said out loud. "Sometimes I forget what a strong telepath you are. I didn't mean to let you see that."

'Yes, you did,' Nelonn said telepathically 'You meant to reassure me that you like women.'

'Oh. Perhaps I did. Hidden motivations. Hidden even from myself. Your insight was well trained by Venmer.'

'Thank you,' Nelonn responded automatically. He reflected that he had once claimed not to be smart like Khunnier, but that was exactly the sort of thing Khunnier would have figured out. Except, Khunnier would have done it without telepathy. Nelonn wondered how Khunnier was handling his new role as Captain.

Brinon, not nearly as strong a telepath as Nelonn, did not notice Nelonn's straying thoughts. He waited until Nelonn was so relaxed he was practically pouring off the platform, then shut off the control box.

"Rest for a while. When you're ready to get up, you do me."

After a bit, Nelonn stood up and Brinon lay down. He gave instruction on placement, having Nelonn adjust his initial placements a little. Then he had Nelonn start with the first left of intensity, and ramp up to two, and then three. "This is about as far up as you should go for a spa treatment, unless the person you're working on actually needs some chiropracty, then you can go up to four. Anything past that and you're out of the pleasure range."

For the rest of the week, they practiced with the various things in the field station. After that, Nelonn was encouraged to give himself low doses of the various drugs that are standard issue in the field kit and for an interrogator's shipboard use, one by one, both to see how to administer them and to feel the effects. Minbari drugs last for days, so this project would take many weeks.

They did not stay aboard ship for that project. As Brinon had said, they had to take advantage of their time in orbit of Minbar while the old war cruiser was reconditioned. After this it would be out of patrol for another few years before heading back to the shipyards of the homeworld again. So they met up every few days for Brinon to supervise Nelonn's injecting himself and his initial reactions. Then Nelonn spent his time in the capitol, trying out 'the befriending method' on as many different kinds of aliens as he could find.

A few of them noticed his scanning them, and Nelonn had a few bad moments as he faced their sudden hostility. But he was always in public when he practiced, mostly in the various public gardens. He was still too young to be allowed into any of the spacer's bars in the capitol city, so he did not get into any barfights. And as for fighting in the public garden, the aliens he offended were not drunk and refrained from starting a fight with the unusually tall, very strong looking young Minbari warrior.

Nelonn was almost disappointed. He did not want any real trouble, but he missed Whitestar 97's weekly denn'bok tournaments. He practiced the moves on his own, and occasionally managed to get some sparring in against the war cruiser's crew, but not very often. Nobody liked to lose, and Nelonn was just too good an opponent. He had not had a chance at a really challenging fight in a long time.

He wished he could go to a bar and use that fighting ritual and Carla and Firuun had taught him, about how to start a friendly fight with human soldiers. Abruptly, he really missed Carla. Grief came on him suddenly. He did not try to suppress it, as he sat on a stone bench in the Human Garden, momentarily alone after the Gaim he had been practicing on noticed him scanning her and left in a huff.

Would Carla approve of what he was doing with his life? It was Captain Punch herself who had suggested he might be good at intelligence work. But he had no doubts exactly what the concept 'Minbari military interrogator' would bring up in her mind. That was what Comac had been. Although during the loribond program, he had not actually wanted any information out of anyone. Comac's program of torture was designed to break people so they could be loribonded, not get any intelligence from them.

Telepaths never had to wonder what people thought. They knew.

But Carla was dead, so Nelonn had only his memories of her. He could not ask her what she thought of what he was learning from Brinon. But he thought she would approve. Brinon did not torture people, and Nelonn was not going to either. Learning how to use the field station had skated close to the edge of Comac territory, but had never crossed the line. And Nelonn promised himself he never would. Every prisoner who came under his hands was a potential future Captain Punch. He would never forget that, and he would never treat anyone in a way he would not treat her under the same circumstances.

"In Valen's name, I swear it," Nelonn whispered.

"There you are." Brinon sat down next to Nelonn. "What are you sad about?" They talked for a while, and Nelonn related his adventures with the Gaim, and he feelings about the latest drug he had tried.

"Well, you've had quite an adventure," Brinon said. "All adventures have an end, unfortunately. It's time to go back to the ship."

They returned to the war cruiser. On the way to their new patrol area, Brinon and Nelonn spent a lot of time talking about Nelonn's experiences with the various aliens. Nelonn managed to get in some denn'bok practice in the ship's gym.

One day in the cramped little office, Brinon said, "You know, almost year has passed since we first met. You spent a whole season at the clan fortress before becoming my apprentice. Aren't you going to be 17 soon?"

"Yes. I still have a long time to wait before I can go to the Anla'shok and ask to be considered as a recruit, though. Sometimes it seems like I'm going to wait forever!"

"There are still a few things you can learn here," Brinon said. "Your telepathy is well trained now, and so is your skill at drawing people out in conversation. You've gotten to be a very good conversationalist indeed."

Nelonn snorted. "I know. That human lady I talked to on our last planetfall mistook me for a professional escort."

Brinon laughed. He briefly switched to English. "Well, that would certainly be an excellent cover for an undercover Ranger."

Nelonn rolled his eyes at the bad pun, but Brinon knew he was laughing inside.

"And you've learned all the technological expertise I can teach you, with the field station, with computers, with communications gear, encryption and decryption, surveillance equipment."

"What's left?" Nelonn asked.

"What's left is the part you never want to think about. Prisoner handling."

"Oh."

"Tell me, Nelonn. When the stationers arrested you for running around the station attacking imaginary Shadows, what did they do? Step by step, if you can recall."

"Oh, well, I'm a little fuzzy on some points. I was seeing things. They had to shoot me, you know. I woke up in medlab. I received all the medical treatment they could give me first, and then I was transferred to station security until they decided whether to let me go or punish me. When they did let me go, I was so afraid of Shona Marsu that I didn't want to leave my cell. I felt safe from her in there."

"When you were taken from medlab to security, what happened when you arrived?"

"They just walked me to my cell and locked me in. You're expecting me to recount some kind of processing, right? Confirming my identity, scanning me for weapons, asking me questions about my supposed crime. They didn't need to. I think I did walk through a weapons scanner, but it was a little redundant. I was back in my armor at that point, but the medical people had taken it off of me when I was unconscious. I didn't get my denn'bok back until security released me."

"They didn't search you at all?"

"What would be the point? Their doctors and nurses must have been all over me when I was brought in. Since I was unconscious I couldn't tell them where I'd been wounded; they would have had to examine me crest to toe."

"Logic does not always trump standard procedure," Brinon observed. "Especially with humans. I'm glad you were not subjected to any unnecessary processing while you were in crisis. However, you are not in crisis now."

"You've got more things to teach me, and as always, you're going to show me how by doing it to me." Nelonn concluded. He shook his head. 'Sometimes I really sound like Khunnier,' he thought.

Brinon heard him think, and responded aloud. "If Khunnier had your telepathic gift, do you think he might have foregone his calling to the Anla'shok and become a counselor like Venmer?"

"I don't think so," Nelonn said. "And neither will I. Alright, if I have to learn it, I have to learn it."

"That's the spirit."

"What, annoyed resignation?"

Brinon laughed. "Resentful obedience is a very appropriate emotion for a teenager, Nelonn."

They went to the ship's brig. There was a bored guard on duty.

"Scoot," ordered Brinon. "The kid and I are taking over the facility for training purposes. Take the day off."

The guard left. The first thing Brinon did was show Nelonn how to turn the monitors and recording devices in the cells and prisoner processing areas on and off. Brinon was very careful to double check and make sure all the cameras and recorders were off.

He showed Nelonn around the brig, including the guard post at the entrance with all its computer equipment and monitors, the cells, including group and isolation cells, two different prisoner processing areas, which could be used for either males and females, Minbari and aliens, or two different kinds of aliens, depending on the needs of the moment. There was also a records room lined with shelves of data crystals. And an interrogation room. Full of the same kinds of things in the field station, plus a lot more things Nelonn did not recognize.

"Yes, you're going to learn how to use all those things, too," Brinon said. "But not today. Let's do this in the right order. Today is intake."

He brought him back to the processing area. Nelonn froze in the doorway.

"Carla's memories?" Brinon asked.

"No, not this time. Just plain old fear. You really can't tell the difference?"

"No, I can't, Nelonn. My telepathic gift isn't like yours." Brinon patted his back reassuringly. "Everything I do to you, you're going to do back to me. If I hurt you I had better worry myself, huh?"

Nelonn shook his head. "I know that's meant to be reassuring, but that's exactly the kind of thing I hope I'll never let myself do. Take revenge on someone under my hands as a prisoner."

"Of course," Brinon said. "But I'm not a prisoner. And neither are you. You don't have to complete your apprenticeship with me if you don't want to. You've already completed apprenticeship with Venmer, and you're considered a fully trained telepath now. Any time you want to walk away from this and never look back, you can."

Nelonn went inside the processing room, hugging himself nervously. "That's all true," he said, "but Venmer said if I show up for Anla'shok training still in mortal fear of being captured, like I was when I first got inside Captain Punch's head, they'll make me face my fears before I can graduate and become Anla'shok. So I might as well face them now."

"Good boy," Brinon patted his back as far up toward the shoulder as he could get without encountering the studs on the shoulder pauldron. "Now, the first thing I'm going to show you is how to search someone in the field, over their clothes. Then we'll get to how you would search someone in here, bringing someone into the brig."

Brinon took hold of Nelonn's wrist and Nelonn got a momentary flash of highly sexual fear, based on Carla's memories.

Sensing the fear, Brinon paused. "I'm only going to check your hands. Concealing a small object in the hand is a standard stage magic trick, many people can do it." Then he lifted Nelonn's hand, smoothed it out, spread the fingers and folds. Much more firmly, he felt through Nelonn's armor, running a hand up his arm, especially checking under the shoulder pauldron and armpit. Then he did the other arm. Then he moved on to checking the back, and the front. Brinon stayed behind him as he pressed on the chestplate and checked the sides and abdomen, almost like a hug. Then he moved on to legs, and between the legs. Brinon moved the particulars aside to check behind them.

"Do you have to touch me like that?" Nelonn whined. "Remember I'm 16."

"Yes, I do," Brinon replied. Then Brinon stepped back and checked up the back of Nelonn's behind, pushing firmly into the cleft. "There. Done."

He stepped away, and let Nelonn recover his calm. Nelonn resorted to a meditation he had learned from Venmer.

"You alright?"

Nelonn nodded.

"Now you do me."

Nelonn repeated Brinon's actions, tentatively.

"More firmly, Nelonn. You have to really press to feel anything through war armor. Some alien species have more supple clothes, humans and Centauri for example, but if you ever have to search a Narn you won't find anything like that."

Nelonn increased the pressure until Brinon's emotions told him he was doing it right. "That's good. No, don't slack off, you have to touch there too. OK, good."

Nelonn stepped back, and Brinon turned around. Brinon gave his apprentice a few moments of transition time.

'You're enjoying this,' Nelonn accused.

'I can't help what I feel. Just like you can't help noticing and commenting on it, in your mind. If we were not telepaths we could be much more impersonal about this.'

'And everything else we ever do,' Nelonn concluded.

Out loud, Brinon said, "Now for the strip search. Go over there. Take off your clothes and put them on the table."

Nelonn did as he was told, with rising trepidation. He tried to keep his fear from showing, and on the outside he appeared completely calm, but inside he was afraid. He tried to block Brinon from reading him, but it was useless. Brinon did not need to actually know what he was thinking to be able to feel his fear.

"We would start by putting these away," Brinon said. He scooped up Nelonn's black war armor and deposited it in a drawer, which he left open, as if to promise they would be returned. "You would be issued a prisoner uniform, after this, if this were real."

Nelonn pulled in his lower lip to keep it from quivering. 'Carla kept her own uniform,' Nelonn thought. 'She wore the same one for the whole eight months. Except when she was naked, of course. Like this.'

Brinon did not comment on that. Perhaps all he could read from Nelonn was fear.

"With races that have hair, you would feel through the hair to make sure nothing was concealed in it," Brinon said. "Then you would proceed with other areas where things might be concealed. Not necessarily anything big enough to be a weapon. You have to watch out for suicide capsules, comm links, even data crystals." Brinon flapped Nelonn's ears forward. He took each arm and repeated the hand stretching and finger spreading he had done in the field search. "Arms up." He looked at each side. "Alright, now put your hands on the table and lean on it. Lean on your left foot." Brinon picked up the right foot and repeated what he had done on the hands, spreading the toes to make sure nothing was between them. "Now lean on your right foot." He did the other one.

Brinon reached around Nelonn. "Races that have hair have it here too. So start above, like this. And then down."

"Brinon."

"I know you're afraid. It's alright." Brinon checked downward and then stepped away. "Stay leaning. It's not over. I'm getting sterile supplies. This drawer here." Brinon brought back a single use cup of lubricant and a handwipe.

"Lie across the table. Spread your legs." Brinon pushed them wider. He moved the dangling items around, looking to see if anything but the usual was there. Then he spread the cheeks, looking in the crack. Then he opened the package of lubricant. He applied it to one finger. "Don't be scared. This isn't going to hurt. Relax."

To Nelonn's surprise, Brinon was right. It did not hurt.

"That's why we use these," Brinon said, indicating the used package. He wiped his hand and then wiped the lube off of Nelonn's rear. "You're done, get dressed." Brinon went to the sterile field and held his hands under it, ridding himself of any possible Nelonn germs.

Going to the drawer and donning his uniform, Nelonn had no coherent thoughts, but his emotions were an open book to Brinon.

"You feel violated. That's because you were," Brinon said. "Sorry, but it's part of the process. Remember that every new person who comes before you in the interrogation room has just been through this. Imagine how terrified you would be if it had been an enemy doing this, instead of someone you have come to know and trust. If you had not been free to walk out, but had been locked in here with armed guards at the door."

"I don't have to imagine. I remember. I remember Carla's memories," Nelonn said miserably. The memories cascaded through him. Memories of a body very different from his own. "I don't know how she could ever stand the sight of us. I can't even stand the sight of us."

"Your mind is in turmoil," Brinon said. "I couldn't read you right now if all our lives depended on it."

"Then why do this?"

"It's what is done," Brinon said. "It makes things difficult for us. But it's not something we can change. What we can do is what you and I learned from Venmer. Try to repair some of the damage."

"Try to be the prisoner's counselor? I would think they would have serious trust issues."

"Of course they do. But all we can do is try to earn it. Of course, if in your career you mostly do covert operations, you might never be called on to question a prisoner. Then again, you might. If you do, remember this. It's one thing to see and hear their state of mind in their mind, telepathically, but it's another thing to have true sympathy."

Nelonn said, "Did you know, among the humans, they do this to their patients? It's horrifying. But I've got Carla's memories of that, too. The GoMAPM Adjustment Center. No wonder she came out of there even more traumatized than when she went in."

"They are still a barbaric race, in a lot of ways. Their culture is very backwards. But they have a number of exceptional people."

"People like Captain Punch."

"Yes. So. Are you ready to turn it around?"

Nelonn nodded. "OK. Let's have the clothes. Over here."

Nelonn performed the search. His mind was still roiling too much to tell whether he performed it flawlessly, since his own emotions got in the way of feeling Brinon's approval or disapproval. But Brinon did not say anything out loud.

Nor did Nelonn sense that Brinon experienced any pain. In fact, Brinon seemed to enjoy the whole process. At least he had the decency to be slightly embarrassed about his enjoyment. Though not as embarrassed as Nelonn was.

When it was over, Nelonn washed his hands rather longer than was necessary. He was determined never to end up in a job like Brinon's. He would become Anla'shok or die in the attempt.

The End


	4. Chapter 4

The Windsword Clan

Story 4: Ascended Ones

Where do such convocations take place? Various traditional sites, on a rotating basis. They tended not to congregate in places where someone might see them, though. Mecca had been off limits for a very long time.

Carla and Lyta had to travel physically to the latest spot, hitching rides on long range ground cargo transports. But when the others arrived, some of them just popped in, translocating at a thought.

Others arrived in trucks, like Carla and Lyta did. An older woman in white and blue was trudging up the Brocken Hill, transparent but still very human looking.

Lyta heard Carla's thoughts as easily as if Carla had bothered to produce sound waves from her luminous not-body.

"She's like us," Lyta said. "There are all kinds of Ascended Ones. That one over there with the tentacles, she was never human at all. Her name is Oma."

"I can see a human projection on her."

"Me too, but it's a thought-form she's adopted because she likes to talk to humans. She has weird self-imposed rules about not interfering, and then goes around helping lots of people ascend." Lyta's transparent form shrugged. "Anyway, she can fly but she has to use jump gates to get from one star to another like anybody else. She likes to pretend she's a god, but she's not. Those guys over there? Yeshua ben Yosef, Odhinn, and Nerthus. They're gods. Nerthus was never human either."

"If I created a thought-form from scratch," Carla said, "I wouldn't've picked such a disgustingly fat one."

"People admired that back then," Lyta said. "Made little idols of her all over Europe."

The woman in white and blue got to the top of the hill.

"So, whose party have you been ruining today, Theresa?" Odhinn asked.

"You're not still giving me grief about that damned carpet, are you, raven-brain?"

Odhinn laughed. "Raven-brain. I like that. It's a nice eke-name."

Mother Theresa made a face.

"The carpet was a gift," Odhinn said. "It's rude to refuse a gift."

"That's your way. It was too rich. Simplicity is mine. And that was two hundred years ago, when I was still alive. Give it a rest already."

Carla asked, "So what's she?"

"Saint," Lyta said.

"Really?"

"Really."

"And what are we?"

Lyta shrugged. "Depends on your perspective. I've gotten to really like Odhinn, in the short time I've been here. And I was essential in the Shadow War. Most people who knew me as a quiet, retiring, and obedient little teep would be surprised, but… Me? Valkyrie."

Carla snorted. "And what am I?"

An insubstantial hand on her back nonetheless felt warm and reassuring. "You," said Yeshua, "could grow wings like a Vorlon, if you wish."

Carla looked over her shoulder, turning her head around in a way a human body would not have tolerated. "Functional wings?"

"Like this," he said, pulling up a bit of her light. "Concentrate."

"Oh. I see." It was simple to alter her form. She could look young again. Carla considered it, but then rejected it. What she was now was the truth of her soul. In her youth, her whole life had been ahead of her, and it was filled with pain. She would not go back to her twenties, to Tifar and the war, for anything. All that was behind her now, and there was wisdom in her eyes, and peace in her heart. She would remain grey.

Then Carla focused again on the wings sprouting from her back. She pulled the thought-form easily from Yeshua's pattern; he had done this before for many people. They were not like Vorlon wings at all, really, not the nebulous, floaty things made from the light-body that had no real substantiality. These wings had feathers. White feathers.

"Oh. Is that what I am?"

The End


	5. Chapter 5

The Windsword Clan

The Windsword Clan

Story 5

Sheridan heard her voice as he was walking down the hall. He had thought he would come surprise her in the middle of the day, and get away from their respective offices in the Presidential Palace for a quiet lunch out in the gardens, away from it all—or as away as they could get within sight of the palace.

But his plan evaporated as he caught her tone. He could not quite hear what she was saying, but it was her hard voice. Something was wrong.

She was done talking by the time he arrived in her inner office. No one else was there.

"What was that all about?" Sheridan asked.

Delenn vented an exasperated sound. "It's the mixed crew ship. Personality conflicts, culture clashes, all kinds of misunderstandings."

"Uh, aren't most of them mixed crew ships?" Sheridan sat down on the corner of her desk. "Most Rangers are human, after all."

"Oh. Not humans and Minbari. Religious caste and warrior caste. I meant Whitestar 98."

"Oh." Sheridan grinned. "The presence of humans doesn't count as 'mixed' now. That's kind of encouraging."

Delenn echoed his smile briefly. Then she turned serious again. "No one seems to have a problem with the human captain. But the captain is having a problem getting the two castes in his crew to cooperate with each other. Each caste wants to do things their way. Actually, I was thinking about asking for some advice from Khunnier and Firuun. Khunnier originally came from the religious caste; he might have some insight on dealing with a warrior caste crew. And Firuun might be a good resource for explaining some of the warrior caste cultural things. I was about to call them, after I collect myself for a few minutes. I was going to meditate, but talking with you is just as restful."

"Uh, you go ahead. I think I'll bow out of this one. The topic of personality conflict and culture clash might just go in a direction none of us want if I'm part of that conversation."

"What is it, John? Isn't Firuun one of your very few Minbari friends?"

"He was. I'm not sure anymore. When we went to see him… Delenn, he's used that word plenty of times but before, he always said it with admiration. That was the first time I heard him say it the way other Minbari say it. And frankly, it wasn't just our bodyguards who reacted like it was a threat."

"It frightened you too," Delenn said. "But it all seemed to, as you humans say, blow over?"

"Yeah, we smoothed it over like a patch of bad concrete, but it's still bugging me. Delenn, I can't just let this go, he's the one Minbari who never seemed to have any hostility toward me about that. Even you and L—ahem. Even you have occasionally expressed some, uh…" Sheridan shook his head. "Damn, this is hard. Isn't there anything around here that needs to be blown up?" He slid off the desk and paced a bit. "OK, bad metaphor."

"How did your race ever manage to create marriage unions and procreate? Human males are so completely incapable of discussing their feelings." Delenn said this with a gentle, ironic smile.

"I don't need to talk to do that," Sheridan said with a twinkle in his eye. He came around her desk and stood very close.

"Calm down, John. Some of us are still at work."

"Isn't it about time for lunch hour? It's a beautiful day, we could go out to the gardens and have a picnic."

"I've never understood the human fascination with outdoor eating. We have a perfectly good table in our suite."

"Yes, I can think of a use for that… after lunch."

"Down, boy."

Sheridan grinned and playfully dropped to his knees in front of Delenn.

"You know that is not what I meant." But she swiveled her chair to front up to him.

"We're all alone in here, aren't we? Your staff has sensibly taken off for lunch."

Delenn glanced at the door to be sure. Then she slid down in her chair and moved aside the robes of Entilza.

Sheridan pushed her legs apart and pressed his face into Delenn's most womanly feature. He teased her with his nose, tickled her with his beard, and then settled in for a long session with his tongue.

This was the spot where his son had come into the world. This was the place where his son had been made. Starting to tighten back up now, after stretching to accommodate the baby. Delenn, beloved, his son's mother, his wife, his everything.

The End


	6. Chapter 6

The Windsword Clan

Story 6: Craigman

"Captain, we're receiving a mayday."

It took Khunnier a second to realize the warrior at the communications station was addressing him. Sometimes he forgot Carla was dead. No, gone—ascended.

"On speaker."

The communication was a literal mayday, in English. "—attack by raiders. Repeat, Piper Colony is under attack by raiders. They've taken out the survey ship and the main dome. We've retreated to the tunnels. Raider ship is coming around for another pass, I think they're going for the antenna! We—"

"Communication ceased broadcasting, Captain."

"Helm, take us there. Maximum speed."

The Whitestar turned in space and opened a jump point, blue geometry against the black starfield, and snapped away into the red glare of hyperspace.

"Ship," Khunnier addressed the computer. "Information on Piper Colony."

"Piper Colony was founded 2 Earth years ago by Mars registered corporation Edgars Industries in partnership with the Drazzi Bureau of Natural Resources, on the planetoid Rozal, in a Drazzi claimed area of space known as the Worldlet Borderlands. Employing a staff of 200, mostly low gravity adapted humans from Mars, 20 of mining jobs are set aside for Drazzi nationals. Piper Colony produces 20 tons of Q-40 ore per year in its mine, which yields .074 tons of refined Q-40 per year in its on site refinery."

"Mining tunnels," Khunnier concluded.

Firuun, who had been on the bridge to discuss provisioning with Khunnier, commented, "I wish Marcus were here."

"Oh?" Khunnier asked.

"He grew up in a Q-40 mining colony. He might have had insights the computer can't tell us about where the miners would go and what they would do, and what kind of dangers we might expect from the environment."

"If we have to send down a strike force, you'll go in full space armor, of course," Khunnier said.

"I had better check the specs on Q-40 radiation against the armor's radiation shielding," Firuun said.

When Whitestar 97 reached the Worldlet Borderlands, Khunnier had the starfield displayed above the bridge. The Borderlands were a stellar crèche, young hot blue stars veiled in their nebular cauls, dotted with planets and asteroids that had newly contracted into masses and had not yet fallen into orbit around any of the stars.

The sensor tech scanned the area carefully as the pilot maneuvered around the glowing blue space near Piper Colony. "There is nothing in the sky, Captain."

"So they must be on the ground," Khunnier finished. "Take us in."

The birdlike shape of the Whitestar skimmed over Piper's volcanic surface. The sensor tech read out the details of the planetary environment. High temperature, high pressure, poisonous atmosphere, seismically unstable, with heavy pockets of radioactivity in the mining area.

They passed over the remains of the habitat crawler. The main dome was open to the air and filled with the fine radioactive dust of the mining operation. A few smaller domes in the front, probably the control areas, were intact. The crawler's treads seemed intact, but it was not moving. "No life signs in the habitat," the sensor tech reported.

Most Q-40 mines, according to the computer, had orbital housing and ore processing areas, but that was not practical in the Borderlands. The ground here was pocked with craters from asteroid collisions.

"Coming up on the refinery," said the navigator.

The refinery looked a bit like a giant kitchen blender, except made out of metal already showing corrosion and pitting from the nasty Piper Colony winds after only two years on the ground. A lump of a different color of metal squatted next to it: the raider ship.

"Scan."

But the sensor tech's report became a moot point before he got started, as the raider ship fired green bursts at Whitestar 97.

"Return fire," Khunnier commanded.

The pilot and gunner fell into their long-practiced rhythm, avoiding the raider's shots and hammering home their own. At first the Whitestar's fire bounced off the enemy's shields, but soon damage began to show on the raider's hull.

Finally the raider ship managed to detach itself from its umbilical to the refinery. It ran for space. The Whitestar was right on its tail, so the raider ship's weapons were out of line, and they ceased firing.

It was an unequal contest. Whitestars had been designed to fight Shadow vessels. They were faster and better armed than any other ship their size.

Khunnier considered giving the order to target engines only. But he thought of Firuun, back in the Whitestar's own engine room, and decided that if anyone deserved to die on that ship, surely its command staff deserved it more than its engineer. Why kill the engineer and leave the pirate captain alive? They blew the raider ship to bits.

"Firuun," Khunnier called down to Engineering. "Get your landing party together."

There were many times aboard ship when Firuun was acutely reminded of Carla's absence. This was one of them. The landing party was all Minbari warriors now. The place right behind the point man where Carla had once walked was now filled by one of the young veterans who had been with the ship from the beginning.

And it was Firuun who gave the mission briefing. Well, he had done that before. But it wasn't the same.

"We're about to enter a Q-40 mine. The miners normally wear protective suits which are blue and yellow, the company colors, but they may not have had time to get into suits when they evacuated to the mine. The miners are all human and Drazzi. The raiders could look like anything."

Firuun paused and looked around. Most of these young warriors were his clansmen. And he was about to lead them into a kind of danger that no amount of fighting skill and spirit would help them with.

"Our space armor will protect us from Q-40 radiation temporarily. But we have to get in and clear that mine and get out in four hours. I've set countdown watches into the comm controls of our suits. The first time it dings is the ten minute warning to get the hell out of there. Second time, four hour deadline. If you hear it ding the second time you'll need radiation decon when you get back. It's just like the decon we went through after the bomb on Untika."

Firuun had not set any secondary timers. There was no point in distracting troops in combat to tell them about things they couldn't do anything about. But there were other deadlines after that. 6 hours, irreversible genetic damage and danger of mutation to offspring. 10 hours, fatal limit.

"If your suit gets holed, stop and patch immediately, even if you're in the middle of a firefight. Any questions?"

"Clan Chief," asked one of the youths. He looked a lot like Henonn, and Firuun was reminded of how many people he had lost recently.

"Yes?"

"If the radiation is that dangerous, if there's anyone down in the mine who's not in one of the protective mining suits, won't they be dead anyway?"

"Good question," Firuun said. "Every species has a different radiation tolerance. The Drazzi workers will probably be fine. And there may be others who have already received a lethal dose of radiation who just have not died yet."

"Why would the raiders go into the mine at all?" asked another warrior. "Why not just steal the refined Q-40?"

"Probably looking for workers to take as slaves," Firuun guessed. "Let's go." He put on his helmet, and his landing party did likewise.

They went into the mine via the refinery. They just went straight through, depending on the reports of the ship's sensor officer that no one was in the refinery. Firuun kept having to unbunch his shoulders, as he kept imagining a sniper aiming at his back. But there was no time to clear the refinery, which was just as radioactive as the mine. The clock was running.

The mine was well lit by glow panels in the tunnel roof. They came to a side tunnel and began clearing. There was no way for sensors to operate down here. They double-timed it down the wide channel of bare grey rock until they came to a dead end, and then turned around.

Back at the main tunnel, Firuun checked the time on his helmet's display, right underneath the faceplate: nearly forty minutes gone already. The went down the tunnel and came to another side tunnel. This one went ten feet in and abruptly dropped straight down. There was an elevator. Firuun left two warriors to guard the approach at the top of the shaft, and the rest of them went down.

The elevator dropped like a comet. They were free-falling! They grabbed onto the grab bars, and one of the warriors screamed. Even inside their space suits they could feel the wind buffeting them. Then the elevator slowed and clanked to a stop with a great bump.

The warriors fanned out. Dropped mining equipment was scattered all around. They explored several short tunnels. No one was there.

They went back up. The elevator operated at high speed, but it still took much longer to go back up than it had to go down. They linked back up with the two guards and continued down the main tunnel.

Q-40 dust was everywhere. It coated them all, especially around the boots, and Firuun thought he was going to have to seal off the boarding party ready room and put everyone through decon anyway if they tracked that much dust back onto the ship.

They went into another side tunnel, and suddenly there were a dozen blue and yellow suits in front of them. One of the workers had a rifle, and tried to fire it at them, but cursed in colorful English at the dust contamination that had ruined her weapon. She sounded a lot like Carla, and Firuun froze for a moment.

Luckily his warriors did not need an order to hold fire. They concluded just as Firuun had that any group in the company suits that had only one weapon between them was probably not the raiders.

Firuun boomed in English, "Nobody fire. We're here to rescue you. I am Firuun of Clan Imbalo."

The suited figure with the slug thrower straightened visibly at his name, and lowered her rifle.

Firuun continued, "Where are the raiders?"

The riflewoman stepped forward, shouldering her weapon, and hooking her free thumb over her shoulder. "Back there. But don't bother, they're dead. They came into the mine without any protection. Morons."

"Let's get you out of here. Are there any more workers elsewhere in the mine?"

"No. No live ones, anyway. This is today's shift, I met up with them hunting down those raiders back there."

"What about the evacuees?" Firuun asked.

"Not here," said the riflewoman. "I'll tell you later. If you are who you say. You could be more raiders, inside that space armor."

"Alright."

Firuun glanced at the running countdown on the readout below his faceplate. A comfortable hour and twenty minutes to go. If the raiders really were all dead, he had nothing to—

Red fire! – worry about.

The Minbari around, energy rifles up.

"There!" the human woman shouted, pointing to a hole high up in the wall of the mine.

The Minbari returned fire, and a raider dropped out of the hole. His laser pistol clattered on the stone a second before his body hit. He was a Markab.

"Well damn," said the human with the useless rifle. "Look at that. He must have gotten into the air shaft somehow. What was he doing up there?"

Firuun used the hand signals Carla had taught them to send four of the Minbari to check out the vent.

One of the other workers, a Drazzi, said, "Aren't all the Markabs supposed to be dead?"

One of the others said, "He must have survived because he was isolated out on the raider ship. Not that it matters now. Craigman, is it over? Are we leaving?"

It was Firuun's turn to start when he heard the name. Could it be? He had no time for reminiscence right now. There might still be raiders. He had to keep his mind on what he was doing.

The air shaft detail reported back. No other raiders found.

"Let's get out of here," Firuun ordered. "Move out. Civilians in the middle."

No other raiders sniped at the tense group. When they got back to the refinery, Craigman pointed off to a side room. "Dust removal. You'll never get all of it off, of course, but it takes off a lot. We always remove dust when we come up from the mine. Safe habits make safe living."

"Sure, good idea," Firuun said. "In batches. Civilians first. Then you, you, and you, then the rest of us."

The dust removal equipment was an air shower that whooshed most of the loose dust away. Though as Craigman had said, it didn't get off everything. The Q-40 dust was so fine it had not only worked its way into Craigman's slug thrower, but into all the Minbari gear too. Firuun noticed radioactive dust in the button grooves of his space armor release latches. This was going to be a challenge to clean up. The engineering dept. would probably be working on it for weeks.

Back in the Whitestar, Firuun consulted with the mine workers on the best way to get everyone out of their protective gear and into the rest of the ship. He was going to have to seal off the boarding party ready room, he could see that easily.

As each person got out of his or her space armor or mining suit, they handed it off to a crewer who hung it up in the suit lockers. The person got out of the room as fast as they could, running through an isolation field that Renbor set up across the door. It was the same isolation field that had failed to keep Khunnier's smallpox contained in sickbay.

Firuun decided the cleanup crew would have to go into the room in powered work suits. Then the work suits would have to be sealed in the airlock and left for someone in deconned space armor to decon. Or maybe he should leave the whole thing to a spacedock's crew. Either way, it was going to be a mess.

Firuun was the last one out. He went immediately to the ship's infirmary to see how the rescued mine workers were doing.

Renbor was examining one of the Drazzi. The others were milling around in their bright yellow suit liners, which looked a little bit like longjohns.

Nelonn was there. He had briefly rejoined the crew after completing his second apprenticeship, while waiting to be old enough to apply to the Anla'shok.

Nelonn had a small group of the survivors together sitting on the floor of sickbay in a circle, helping them as Venmer had taught him.

"It is you," Firuun said. "Craigman." He smiled.

Craigman came over to talk to him, and all the workers hushed. Some of the humans were wide-eyed. The survivors in Nelonn's impromptu therapy circle got up to listen to the conversation, and Nelonn did too. Only Renbor and his patient of the moment did not join the crowd of bystanders.

"Yes," Craigman admitted. She looked like she was bracing for more combat. "Firuun. I had actually forgotten your name, until I heard it again. Funny. You were the coup of my career. You'd think I wouldn't forget something like that. But I was never allowed to keep any records, of course. Classified."

Firuun blinked at her uncomprehendingly. His smile faded. "How could I have had anything to do with your career? You didn't have anything to do with my capture. You were just a guard."

"Oh my god. You still haven't figured it out?"

Firuun shrugged. "You kept the night guard from making fun of me. You taught me to speak and read English. Loaned me your own books. Books that told me not quite everything I needed to know to win my wife Carla."

"What?" Craigman asked. "You mean you married a human?"

"She was the Captain of this ship, until she went to be with Valen."

"Oh. Oh my. I'm sorry. But… Oh." Craigman giggled and put a hand over her mouth. "I didn't realize you would pay that much attention to the plot. I hope you didn't actually try, um… any actual bodice ripping."

"She only let me do it once."

Craigman turned beet red and put her hands over her face and laughed hysterically. "I didn't think you'd understand that part. I thought of giving you technical manuals to read instead, since you were an engineer, but command nixed that idea. You might have learned something. The idea was for us to learn from you."

"What?"

Craigman sighed and dropped her hands and got her breathing under control. "I wasn't a guard, Firuun. I was military intelligence."

"I thought you came by to chat with me every day out of compassion. I thought you were my friend."

"Firuun. I'm sorry. I was never your friend. I was your interrogator."

Nelonn said, "It's called the befriending method. Brinon taught it to me."

Firuun was dumbstruck. He stalked out of the room.

Firuun thought about retreating to the ship's appendix. But he did not want to be in that confined little space right then.

He went back over his memories of his conversations with Craigman. They had talked about engineering a lot. Firuun had thought she was leading him to a topic he was comfortable with to keep his mind of the losses of the rest of his crewmates. Thinking about engineering and math and logic and physics, it's wasn't quite as good as actually working with his hands, but almost. It had been a subject that calmed him down when he was upset about the deaths of the rest of his crewmates.

And all along, Craigman had not been putting up with the endless details of Minbari technology to be polite. She had been recording and reporting. Drawing him out, getting every last piece. He didn't know things like battle plans and command codes. He did know about shield harmonics. Engine trace signatures.

How much had he given her? Had his information ever killed Minbari?

Firuun needed to talk to someone. When Carla had been the Captain, most of the crew had taken their troubles to Khunnier. His new rank did not put a wall between them; Minbari did not think that way. But he was usually a lot busier than he used to be. He didn't always have time for everyone when they needed to talk anymore. Still, it was to the bridge that Firuun went.

The bridge did not have the ceiling holograph activated, but Firuun could see the red flicker of hyperspace out the front windows. So, they were leaving the Worldlet Borderlands.

"Khunnier?"

"Oh, good, Firuun. Is the additional breathing load putting a strain on the ship's life support capacity?"

"I'll check, Captain."

Firuun left the bridge. Khunnier was going to be too busy to talk to him until the evacuees were off the ship, clearly.

Firuun went to engineering and assigned one of his crewers to check on the ship's lifesupport load. Then he went to talk to Nelonn.

That was just a tiny bit "creepy" as Carla would have said. Go talk to Nelonn about his problem dealing with the idea of having a military interrogator onboard. Right. But Nelonn was also a counselor, well trained by Venmer in far more than just telepathy.

Firuun stood outside sickbay. This was the last place he had seen Nelonn. But it was also the last place he had seen Craigman, and he was not ready to deal with her yet.

Nelonn must have felt his emotions. The boy came out of sickbay and steered Firuun down the corridor until they were out of earshot of those inside, around a bend.

Nelonn kept walking, heading for the empty viewing room, and said quietly, "You feel betrayed."

"It's irrational," Firuun rumbled. "We were on opposite sides of the war. I had no right to expect friendship. But I thought that was what I had. All this time, I thought she reached out to me out of compassion."

"Maybe she did," Nelonn said.

"If she was teaching me English and chatting with me all day hoping I'd let a few intelligence nuggets slip, then it was just her job."

"Yes, it was her job to get things out of you, but using the befriending method was her choice. In my second apprenticeship, I learned the befriending method. I also learned how to use drugs and instruments of torture. I have sworn to myself and to the memory of Captain Punch that I will never torture a prisoner. Because I do have compassion, and empathy, and memory. Her memories. And I know what is right. Perhaps Craigman also chose that method out of compassion. And knowing right from wrong."

Firuun sighed. "Maybe she did. I don't suppose you can tell for sure?"

"I can only read surface thoughts without being invasive. I've only done deep scans on Venmer's patients, with their consent. Someday when I am Anla'shok I might need to dig in peoples' minds for intelligence information, but only when it is absolutely necessary."

"So you would have to ask her, in order to make her think about it, before you could read her thoughts about it."

"Yes."

"It doesn't matter. I don't care why she befriended me, or if she thought she was just doing her job. To me, she was a friend. And that makes it true. An emotional truth. Timab."

They came to the viewing room and went inside. As Nelonn had figured, no one was in it. The holograph projectors were turned off, and it was nothing but a big empty room with a spotlight. It looked like a stereotype of a Minbari council chamber.

"You do care whether," Nelonn said. "Minbari say we do not lie, but we lie to ourselves all the time. Cover up our true thoughts and feelings. Venmer has made a career of it."

"You talk about Venmer a lot," Firuun rumbled. "But today was the only time you've ever mentioned Brinon. Did something happen?"

"Not as such," Nelonn hedged. "I merely woke up to the fact that the feelings I read in Brinon were not the harmless byproduct of training that he claimed they were, but the reason for some of the things he claimed were training."

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind. It is difficult to fool a telepath, Firuun. But another telepath can, even a relatively weak one like Brinon. I was aware almost from the first day that he found me attractive. But it took me many months to realize that not everything he put me through was genuinely a normal part of a military interrogator's training. Once I caught him thinking that on the day I became an adult he was going to do something very special. I caught a glimpse of his plan. And I jumped ship."

"You what?"

"Luckily, we were not in deep space at the time. No one gave me a second glance when I entered the fighter bay. People on the ship knew I had previously apprenticed to Venmer. They did not know that before that, I was a fightercraft maintenance technician on this ship. They did not think I even knew how to start one."

"Nelonn, you're not a pilot."

"No, I'm not. But I managed to get off the ship and down into the atmosphere of the planet we were orbiting, an outer colony. I did not try to land. I knew that was beyond my skill. I popped the canopy and ejected as soon as I was in atmosphere. I did not know how to control the chute and ended up in a tree, but I was not injured. Then I climbed down, walked to the nearest starport, and bought a ticket for Babylon 5. Where I linked up with you and rejoined this ship."

"Why didn't you tell me any of that before?" Firuun thundered.

"I wasn't ready. I've spoken with Venmer about it already. He will deal with his old apprentice. He had no idea about Brinon's proclivities. He must have developed them long after completing his own apprenticeship when he was a child younger than me."

"I will deal with Brinon!"

"Please, Clan Chief. Allow this to be a thing between telepaths. There is no need to start a clan war over it. Venmer will deal with him."

"Venmer is a kind and gentle old religious," Firuun rumbled.

"Venmer is a holy terror when it comes to this sort of thing, Firuun. I've seen him go into the mind of revealed villain, after Venmer has spent weeks or months rooting out the truth and helping the victims. He will burn out the deviation. It is something he taught me to do as well, but I have done it once and will never do it again. Well, perhaps I will, someday, if I ever have the need to. But I could not even think of doing it to Brinon, although I am powerful enough. I still do see him as a mentor, even a friend. I learned a lot from him."

Nelonn and Firuun were silent for a few moments. Then Nelonn said, "And speaking of troubled friendships. I believe we came here to talk about your problems, not mine."

"It seems trivial now. Twenty years ago, an enemy holding me captive managed to get me to think she was my friend. Hell. Nobody could pretend that well. I think you might be right about Craigman. Maybe she did come to be a friend, sort of. As much of one as circumstances allowed."

Firuun strode out of the viewing room. "Come on."

They went back to sickbay, where they found the rescued mine workers milling around and talking excitedly. They all quieted when Firuun and Nelonn came in.

"There is just one thing I want to know," Firuun boomed. "Was it your choice to use the befriending method, or did Sheridan order you not to do anything horrible to me?"

"Both," Craigman replied. "He did make it clear to me that he would not tolerate war crimes aboard his ship. But he didn't need to."

Nelonn asked quietly, "Morality or efficiency?"

She regarded him for a moment with her head tipped to the side, as if figuring out his angle. "I see you're not one of those who mistakenly believe those two things point to different, um, methods, as you say. I worked with what I had." She shrugged. "Even if I had been authorized to use harsh methods, which I wasn't, and even if I had been willing to do that kind of thing, which I wasn't, it would have been a stupid thing to do when the very first complete sentence Firuun ever spoke in English was 'Sheridan is Tiluun reborn.'"

Craigman looked back at Firuun. "I thought it was a remarkable psychological defense mechanism. The first whole day you managed to say much of anything beyond 'hungry' or 'cold', I couldn't get you to shut up about how much you admired Sheridan. What idiot would try to use pain or fear when you had that attitude? All I had to do was gently steer you onto the topic of how you perceived Sheridan's strategies as different from your own officers', and I ended up with a book-length manual on Minbari military doctrine by the end of the day."

Firuun wavered visibly. A human would have paled, but Firuun's Minbari complexion was already as pale as a life form could get without turning to glass.

He rumbled, "And another book on Minbari warship technology by the end of the week."

"That too," Craigman agreed.

An uncomfortable silence ensued. It was Nelonn who broke it. "You did feel something, though," Nelonn said. "Perhaps not exactly friendship, but a kind of caring, at least."

"Yes, I suppose I did," Craigman said. "But I always expected that eventually you would realize how I used you. You were obviously very intelligent, Firuun. I figured that the shock of being the only survivor of your ship had gotten to you, and eventually you would snap out of it and realize what I must have been doing."

"I never suspected," Firuun rumbled. "I was angry, for a few minutes, when you told me. But what the hell. My life has paralleled Carla's in all kinds of weird ways, and this is just another one of them. Carla forgave Comac, at the end. You didn't even do anything to me. How can I fail to put what didn't happen behind me?"

Firuun approached and held out a hand in the human fashion. "Friends?"

Craigman nodded. "Friends." They shook hands.

The End.


	7. Chapter 7

Windsword 7

Author's note: this story is a sequel to story 6: Craigman. I know I said that each story in The Windsword Clan would be self contained, but one thing leads to another! Lol.

\

Firuun was alone in the viewing room, except for the image of Venmer coming to answer his comm. "Ah. Firuun. I thought I might be hearing from you soon, and by the expression on your face, I would say you are calling about Brinon. That situation has been resolved."

"Nelonn said you would burn out Brinon's deviance from his mind. Is that what you mean by resolved?"

Venmer sighed, and any hint of good humor vanished. "I looked into Brinon's mind, and I did not find any. He is not a pedophile, Firuun; Nelonn is physically adult. Nonetheless Brinon has been disgraced and has been stricken from the rolls of eligible telepath mentors."

"That's it?" Firuun thundered.

"He will no longer teach. Therefore he will have no apprentice of which to take advantage. All that remains is to help Nelonn, which I am already doing to the best of my very considerable ability. Nelonn speaks to me, in here." Venmer touched the side of his head bone. "I am aiding him."

"That's not enough," Firuun boomed.

"That is what the federation of telepaths can do. Had Brinon actually had a mental problem, I could have done more. I am deeply sorry that I did not find out about this before. I am contacting all of Brinon's former apprentices, to help them."

Firuun growled, "Then I will take care of Brinon our way. As a telepath he is your business. As a member of the warrior caste he is mine."

Venmer's eyes widened. "I would not recommend challenging Brinon to the Ritual of Endurance. He is widely reputed to enjoy such things, and having deep scanned him recently, I can say his reputation is correct. I'm well aware of your fame in that area, but are you quite sure your champion would be willing to make the same sacrifices for you that he made for Delenn?"

"What? No. I wouldn't expect it, and I wouldn't ask him, and it wouldn't work without Lennier anyway. I didn't mean the Ritual of Endurance. Yes, it is a clan matter, but only for the Windswords. Brinon's clan doesn't enter into this."

Firuun did not want to argue with Venmer, so he cut the comm. He was about to leave the viewing room when Khunnier's voice rang out from the speakers. "Firuun, we just received a transmission from Babylon 5. They've apprehended a suspect in the raiders' support ring. Some kind of fence, possibly. They're asking us to bring the mining colony's chief of security to the station. We're not diverting, we're already docking with the Drazi station, but we're heading there right after we unload the rest of the workers."

"Alright. So, what do you need me to do?"

"Recondition the human shower. It's a four day journey."

"Oh. I see. Actually, I've kept it maintained. It's ready to use. I assume that means their chief of security is one of the humans. I'll get all the human gear out. Set up the bed webbing on a sleeping platform, and everything. I'll see if the galley can come up with some human food, too."

"Good, please see to it."

There was an undercurrent of tension in both their voices, but neither of them spoke aloud what they were thinking: those weren't just the human items, they were Carla's things. Some random human was going to be using Carla's things.

It made sense, of course. Carla wouldn't need them anymore. Firuun said, "I'll see about some clothes, too. The suit liner will need to be washed. Which human is it?"

"It's, ah, it's Craigman."

"Oh." Firuun unconsciously touched his silver and gold ring. Craigman, using Carla's things… he could not let himself get sentimental over the shower and webbing, they were salvage from destroyed human warships in the first place, he reminded himself. "I'll see if um, Milenn has any civilian clothes."

Firuun drew the line at loaning Craigman any of Carla's clothing, and nothing of Carla's would have been big enough for her anyway. Except the dresses that Carla's mother had given her, and Carla had never liked them, so Firuun had not kept them. Not on the ship, anyway; the basement at the clan fortress was a giant up-for-grabs pile.

He shook his head to clear away the mental image of Craigman sorting through generations of Imbalo castoffs. "If that will be all, Captain?"

"Yes, go." He heard the sigh of regret in Khunnier's voice. They had been drifting apart, dealing with each other more formally. Since Carla's death, or since Khunnier's becoming Captain, it was impossible to separate the two.

Firuun mostly stayed out of Craigman's way until they were only a day out from Babylon 5. Not that he was particularly avoiding her, he was just avoiding everyone. If there had been any long-range, hyperspace-capable fighters on Whitestar 97, Firuun would have been sorely tempted to jump in one and go deal with Brinon.

He did not know exactly what Brinon did, but whatever it was, it had Nelonn talking around it like Carla used to talk around the details of what happened to her when she was first captured, before she arrived on Tifar.

Of course, Nelonn had not spent decades dealing with it, so whatever it was might not bother him forever. But whatever it was, it was enough to make Venmer commandeer a ship and go see Brinon. And Venmer had seen it all.

But eventually Firuun calmed down, content to wait for his opportunity. And then he woke up to the fact that Craigman would be leaving the ship soon, and he really did want to establish a friendship, for a whole lot of reasons, not least in honor of Carla's friendship with Clan Itma, though he was not about to put it to Craigman like that.

So he sought her out, and found her and Nelonn sitting in a corner of the denn'bok practice room, which was otherwise deserted. They were looking at a rolled out instrument case on the floor.

When Firuun came in, Nelonn gave a start and rolled up the case, but not before Firuun saw what was inside it: a set of sucker wire. "What in Valen's name are you doing with those?" Firuun boomed.

"Um, comparing notes?" Nelonn squeaked.

"I figured that part out all by my self with my little tiny non telepathic brain," Firuun thundered. "I meant why do you have them in the first place?"

Nelonn looked down. "I like them," he whispered.

"What do you mean you like them?!" Firuun shouted so loudly the ship's walls pulsed as if repairing harmonic damage.

Nelonn started to cry.

Firuun froze and tucked his hands under his arms, trying to contain himself.

Craigman looked up and explained matter of factly, "He was just telling me how these things were invented as a spa treatment. Who is Brinon?"

"Someone I am going to kill," Firuun rumbled.

"Oh," Craigman blinked, startled. "I thought he was a Minbari."

"He is," Firuun said.

"Um."

Nelonn wiped his face, but did not look up at Firuun. Very quietly, he said, "Venmer already took care of the problem."

"Not to my satisfaction. I am your clan chief and you are my responsibility."

"He didn't actually do it," Nelonn said. "He only planned to. I saw it in his mind."

Firuun sat down in front of Nelonn, crossing his legs to get as low as possible. Not that he was really less intimidating that way, with his voice and size. "Nelonn," he said as quietly as he could manage. "Whatever it was that you saw in his mind, that frightened you enough to make you go AWOL, you would not have done that if you thought simply declining to participate would have been good enough. And for that, I will challenge Brinon den sha."

"But… but… I… the things he taught me. I've learned so much, not only about telepathy, and about his job, but things, things like this." Nelonn gestured to the closed tool roll. "Things about pleasure. I… Yes I admit sometimes it was… frightening… but… I wouldn't give the knowledge back. I don't want you to kill him."

Firuun sighed. Then he picked up the roll and started to walk out with it.

Nelonn jumped to his feet. "Wait! What—what are you going to—"

"I am putting this down the flash disposer," Firuun rumbled.

"Please don't. I can't fall asleep anymore if I don't relax myself before sleep cycle."

Firuun turned around. Nelonn was wringing his hands, and Craigman had scuttled back into a corner, her face going the color of oatmeal.

"Brinon got you addicted to this thing?" Firuun growled. "I'm not just going to kill him. I'm going to kill him slowly."

"Please," Nelonn said. "Please don't take it. I need it. I can't live without it."

"Listen to yourself," Firuun said. "Do you plan to haul this around with you into the dark places? Do you think for one instant that you would pass the tests to get into the Anla'shok if you can't go a day without electrotorture?"

"Oh. But… I'll be more discrete, I—"

"Nelonn. You went to Brinon thinking he would help prepare you to become a Ranger someday. Instead you come back to us a, a, a—This ends now. I won't have this thing on my ship."

"It isn't your ship." Nelonn put a hand over his mouth, fell to his knees, and actually pitched forward onto his hands with his face to the floor. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to challenge your authority, I'm sorry, please…"

"Nelonn!"

Nelonn twitched and started crying again.

"Good god," Craigman said. She put an arm around him and raised him up to a normal sitting position. "Poor kid. This Brinon character must be a real piece of work. Firuun, for what it's worth, I hope you do kill him. I'll help."

"Nelonn, I think you should talk with Khunnier. Forget for a moment that he's the Captain, he's also a wizard when it comes to people. And he's a Ranger, and he was Carla's friend. I think he could help you."

"And he had a similar experience?" Nelonn asked. "Sorry, you were thinking pretty loudly. It's harder for me to block when my mind is in chaos."

"That too," Firuun said. "For now we'll leave you alone to get ahold of yourself."

He gestured to Craigman and the human followed him out, not without a backward glance. Firuun did go throw the sucker wire set down the disposal chute.

"Is that wise?" Craigman asked. "When he talked to me about it, he made it sound so benign. Like massage. But what I just saw… Firuun, that kid was acting, well, he was acting broken."

"And you've seen that before," Firuun rumbled.

"Not like that. Not by my hands. That's not what I do. You know that."

Firuun sighed. "Alright, yes, I know that. I suppose you've seen the results of other peoples' efforts."

Firuun visibly relaxed when he heard the sound of the set being consumed in the disposer. "He seemed so together. He was functioning just fine, until I took this away from him. Maybe that was not wise, as you say, but better to get rid of it now, when he's surrounded by his clanmates, then try to do it alone during Ranger training, or worse, be rejected for training."

That night Nelonn did not go to sleep right away, twisting and turning on the sleeping platform. But he did drop off eventually. The next morning his eyes were bloodshot and he looked strung out, but otherwise he seemed fine.

Taking Firuun's advice, he went to see Khunnier. He found him in a corridor on his way to the bridge. "Captain Khunnier?"

Not knowing about the problem with the sucker set, Khunnier said, "Oh, good, Nelonn. I was going to send for you. The stationers are hoping we will deliver Laura Craigman like a taxi service and then leave. But the raider attack did not happen in Babylon 5 space, or in human space. I plan to claim jurisdiction in the name of the Anla'shok. Are you up to acting in the capacity of interrogator?"

"Um." Nelonn blinked. Firuun had been making his decisions for him, just like Brinon did. That was why Nelonn had reacted to Firuun's anger with the kind of show of submission that Brinon would have liked. But Nelonn realized now exactly how stifling that role was.

Khunnier was treating him like a competent adult. His spirit soared. In that moment, he fell in love. This was the kind of service he desired: to be asked, not told, what he was capable of, to be given a chance at worthiness, at real work, an important mission. And this was the kind of person he wished to serve: calm and wise as Venmer, beautiful in the ethereal and refined way that the religious caste were, an authority that did not come from being physically superior but mentally superior. A calm and centered mind, like Venmer's, like most of the religious. But with the edge of fighting spirit of a Ranger, a Captain. The kind of person he aspired to be someday. "Yes, Captain. It is my honor."

"Good. Team up with Craigman. I'll see about getting the suspect delivered, or at least get you in to see him."

\

Firuun caught up with Craigman again in the mess hall. He sat down opposite her. "I hope you don't think this is how our society is all the time."

"Oh, no," Craigman responded. "Actually I lived on Minbar for a few months. The job I had right before this one was with a security company that set up systems for commercial operations. When they got a contract to set up a system for one of the Earth corporations that opened a branch on Minbar when the IA capital was being built, I got sent out because of having some familiarity with Minbari culture, although I may have exaggerated that point just a smidge."

"Meaning I'm still the highlight of your career," Firuun concluded.

"Yeah, that would be about right."

"People are so much harder to understand than machines."

The pause went on a little too long.

"Well," Firuun said, "I had better get back to the airlock. I'm almost done decontaminating it. The suit lockers will probably have to be replaced. The ship hasn't self-healed them, it's cut them off, probably to keep itself from getting sick from radiation poisoning. Anyway, lots to do. I probably won't see you around once we dock at Babylon 5, I'll be taking leave as soon as we reach the station."

"To go hunt Brinon?"

"Yes."

"Good luck, Firuun."

"Thank you. But I won't need it. Brinon is not a master of the denn'bok."

"What makes you think he won't cheat? If he's a bad guy."

"Mmm. I'll think about that. Good bye, Laura Craigman. My friend."

"Good bye, Firuun." This time they exchanged bows in the Minbari fashion, hands up in the triangle formation.

\

Elizabeth Lochley had frizzed-out brown hair, a whiskey tenor voice, and a hairy eyeball expression. "Absolutely not."

Zack Allen smirked and crossed his arms. "See. Told you so."

Glacially calm, Khunnier said, "My claim of jurisdiction is a proper one. On what grounds do you refuse?"

"On the grounds that I am not handing over a human from my brig to a Minbari military interrogator. That's what grounds," Lochley snapped.

"Leaving aside for the moment whether you can legally refuse my claim, in the interests of cooperation and goodwill, would it be acceptable to you for my crewman to come to him?"

Lochley and Zach exchanged a glance. "Maybe. Under very strict conditions."

"Perhaps it would help matters if I introduced said crewman," Khunnier intoned. "Nelonn, step forward please. This is Nelonn of Clan Imbalo."

"He's just a kid."

"He is a trained military interrogator, nonetheless." That was not precisely the whole truth, but it was not exactly a lie either.

Somewhat skeptically, Lochley asked Nelonn, "YOU are a Minbari military interrogator." At his nod, she continued, "What's your position on torture?"

Nelonn, his gaze directed at her boots, said quietly, "Mostly bottom."

Down in the well of the operational level of C-and-C, fresh-faced Lt. Corwin stifled a chuckle behind his hand.

Lochley pursed her lips. Whether she was suppressing laughter or cussing, none could tell. Except, of course, Nelonn. And he reinforced his mental shields against her thoughts.

"Alright. You can talk to Ulshafer. In the presence of one our security crew. You may not touch the prisoner or imply that you will. You may not imply that he will be handed over to you. Is that clear?"

"Clear," Nelonn agreed.

"Alright, dismissed." As the delegation from Whitestar 97 left, Nelonn heard Lochley thinking loudly, 'damn rank-pullers. Who the hell ever agreed the Rangers should be over everybody? Oh yeah, the same guy who thought he—" The door closed on her words.

Nelonn commented to Khunnier, "It's a good thing the Clan Chief wasn't here to hear that."

Khunnier glanced at him. "To hear what?"

"Oh. You didn't hear her say… Oh. I thought I was blocking. I guess I must have heard her thoughts."

"What did she say?"

Mr. Allen, leading them down to the security station, said, "Hey, are you a telepath? Telepaths aren't allowed to scan normals without their permission."

"I'm not—" Nelonn began.

But Khunnier interrupted. "Mr. Allen, your commanding officer has given permission for Nelonn to interview the subject."

"She didn't know you were a telepath. Right back into her office, you two." Zack Allen herded them back in. "He's a teep, Captain."

"What? Put that ship on hold, I'll get back to them later." Lochley came back over to the small group by the door. "You're a telepath?"

Mr. Allen said, "He said you heard you thinking."

Nelonn said, "I only heard you thinking because you were shouting in my direction. The thoughts were directed at me. General resentment of Rangers and your ex. I try to block but some things are too powerful."

"So that's the trick, is it?" Lochley said. "Well you can forget it. I knew you guys were up to something. I knew you would only want the prisoner turned over to you because you thought you could get things out of him that we couldn't, using methods that aren't allowed under Earth law. I thought you intended to torture him. But I see you intended to scan him instead. Which is also not allowed under Earth law, unless he consents."

Khunnier said, "I am sorry, Captain Lochley, but my claim of jurisdiction stands. If you will not allow Nelonn to see the suspect in your jail, then I must insist he be turned over to me."

"No way in hell. He's an Earth citizen on an Earth-run station."

"Which is independent, and even if it were not, Earth is a member of the Alliance now. And subject to Alliance law superseding local law."

"No. A human, on a human station, having broken a law here against fencing stolen goods, suspected in complicity in a raid on a Mars registered corporation's holdings, which is—"

"Independent of Earth," Khunnier said.

"Human," Lochley insisted.

"Do not mistake my calm manner for an absence of backbone. I assure you I have as much as any of my kind." Khunnier pointedly referenced the well known Minbari trait of having a denser bone structure than humans.

Nelonn stared at the ground. He should not have mentioned hearing thoughts. He had messed everything up. Brinon would have been disappointed in him.

The thought of Brinon made Nelonn suppress a shudder. He should not have run away, and caused all this trouble, but what else could he have done? Even when Brinon was careful to point out he had the option of leaving, doing so would mean failure, and Nelonn had given in and given in and given in, letting Brinon do all kinds of things he didn't want. No, that wasn't precisely true. Nelonn did want to be touched the way Brinon touched him. He just didn't want it from Brinon. He wanted it from someone young like himself, and beautiful… Khunnier. It was a good thing Khunnier couldn't hear his thoughts.

Khunnier continued, "However. There is no need for the kind of confrontation we had with the last world that did not want to acknowledge Alliance law. In the interests of conciliation, I have an alternate proposal. We have brought with us, as you requested, Piper Colony's chief of security. I presume you asked for her presence as a witness to the raid and how the colony's security procedures were thwarted. But Laura Craigman is fully qualified to conduct such an interview herself, and certainly has the right as the chief of security of the raided planet. Would you allow that, and allow her to share her findings with us?"

"What's the catch this time?" Lochley asked.

"No catch. Only that I happen to know Craigman to be a highly successful interrogator. You can check her Earth Force record."

Lochley raised an eyebrow. "Alright." She motioned the group to follow her. "Into my office."

Lochley got the group inside and closed the door before calling up Craigman's confidential Earth Force personnel file. "Assigned to Military Intelligence. High rate of promotion. Official commendations attached—mostly redacted into unintelligibility. The dates would put it during the Earth-Minbari war. The rest is classified."

"Still?" Khunnier said. "An oversight, I'm sure. It hardly makes sense to attempt to keep her wartime activities secret when the prisoners were released a generation ago. Nelonn here was not even born yet when Firuun came home."

Lochley processed the implications of that. "Aw Jesus." She shook her head. "But that doesn't change anything. Whatever she might once have been, Craigman is a s—"

"Civilian, now," Khunnier finished.

"Suspect."

"What?"

Nelonn said, "Captain Lochley, you're wrong. She was onboard for several days. She dreamed. I've always been vulnerable to human dreaming, since my powers first awakened. Shields can only do so much, especially when I'm asleep. Strong emotions still come through. She was as shocked by the raid as any of the rest of the miners. She has a pure hatred burning in her heart, which she thinks she keeps covered up by acting polite and professional. Put her in the room with Ulshafer and he won't suspect a thing; he's not a telepath. She'll make friends with him, draw him out. That's what she does. But it won't stop the hate. It won't ever stop the hate. I've seen it."

"Hmpf." Lochley switched off the display of Craigman's records. "Suppose I believe you. She was surprised, and she hates the raiders. That doesn't mean she couldn't be the source of the information."

"She was trained in intelligence work," Nelonn said. "And unlike me, she's had plenty of practice at not letting things slip. You're right about me, Captain Lochley, I am still technically a child. For another few months yet. Someone like Craigman would not have made the mistake that I made, just now."

Nelonn looked at Khunnier. "Sorry, Captain Khunnier."

Khunnier made a slight head shaking motion, as if to say, we'll talk about that later.

Nelonn flinched visibly. He had not read anything from Khunnier, since Khunnier's icy calm did not project thoughts on waves of emotion. But the idea of punishment stirred such a terrible mix of emotions in him: Carla's old fears-turned-desires, Brinon's carefully ramped up instruction in the art of pain as pleasure, a terrible, shameful stirring within.

Nelonn lost track of the conversation between the two captains. His only coherent thought was, 'I've got to warn Brinon. Tell him not to let Firuun aboard. But should I wish for Brinon to act cowardly? It's me who runs away, not fearless old warriors.'

Finally Lochley said, "Alright. For now, Craigman is off the suspect list. Pending Mr. Allen's interview with her, and his conclusions. But you're not getting a piece of Ulshafer. Let it go. It's not your fight."

"I have one last compromise to propose," Khunnier said.

Nelonn felt the patient pounce of the cat by the mouse hole in Khunnier's attitude as he suddenly came to what he really wanted all along. Nelonn realized that Khunnier never had any interest in the prosecution of the raiders, and was perfectly content to leave that to the local authorities. He wanted a favor of some kind.

"What is it?" Lochley asked, eyeing Nelonn suspiciously.

"Have your hazmat crew finish decontaminating my ship. My engineering dept. did their best, but we were never set up to contain Q-40 ore dust."

"Done," Lochley said.

The two captains shook hands.

So… Nelonn realized he had not messed up after all. He was really along as a straw man. And he had played his part perfectly. But still, handing out more information than needed was a mistake he was never going to make again.

The End


	8. Chapter 8

The Windsword Clan

Story 8

Where was he? It looked like the clan fortress, but wasn't he aboard Whitestar 97?

He investigated the wall. Yes, made of stone. He drifted right through it!

He was a ghost! He was dead!

"No, that would be me," a wry female voice said. Nelonn looked and saw Carla.

"I'm dreaming," Nelonn said.

Carla abruptly morphed into Sheridan. Nelonn stepped back as Sheridan walked right through him like he wasn't there. Which of course, he wasn't. And neither was Sheridan.

"Starkiller." Firuun said it with a low growl like an attack dog.

"Do we have a problem, Firuun?"

"Yes. I have a problem. My wife is dead. That's my problem."

"I didn't kill Carla."

Firuun sighed and turned away. "I know that. If anyone in the galaxy is responsible, it's my daughter. It's easier to be angry at you."

"Oh. Well. In that case. If you need a shoulder to gnash on, I'm here."

Firuun rumbled, "You make it hard to stay mad at you, you know."

"I learned that from Delenn. There I'd go getting up a good mad and she'd agree with me."

"Of course you did," Firuun thundered. "Because YOUR wife is still alive."

"Hey…"

Firuun glanced nervously behind Sheridan.

Sheridan looked over his shoulder to see his Ranger bodyguards fingering their weapons. "At ease, Anla'shok. Firuun, that's really not the kind of thing you want to be saying around the Rangers. Or me either."

"I am Minbari," he boomed.

"Yeah, I think I figured that out. The bone is kind of a clue."

"I could never harm Delenn. To imply otherwise is an insult." Firuun's hands twitched. He looked like he was trying to keep them from balling into fists.

"Yeah, well, not all of you guys think she still counts as Minbari, you know."

"Oh. Of course." Firuun deflated. All the anger seemed to run out of him, and his shoulders sagged, displaying the studs on the shoulder pauldrons of his armor.

After a pause, Sheridan asked, "Are you OK?"

"Yes. Yes, I am fine. John."

Sheridan extended a hand to shake… and Firuun suddenly pulled out an energy rifle—from where? From nowhere, it was a dream—and shot him in the head.

Nelonn screamed.

Sheridan's body turned into Brinon's before he hit the ground.

Nelonn woke up screaming.

"What, what?" someone was standing by his sleeping platform. "Are you alright?"

Somewhat blearily, Khunnier slid off his platform and asked, "Real dream or just a dream, Nelonn? Is your telepathy warning us of some danger?"

"No, no danger," Nelonn panted. "Not to us, anyway. Only to Brinon. I wonder if he's still alive?"

"Trust in Firuun," Khunnier said. "I wish someone had protected…" me, he was about to say. But he did not want to talk about his Desnaran experiences in front of his crew. Nelonn heard him loud and clear, though. "Carla," Khunnier finished, somewhat disjointedly. "And everyone who's ever been taken advantage of by those with power over them."

"I don't need a protector," Nelonn said. "I left. I stole a ship and got out all by myself. I'm going to be a Ranger. I'm going to be the protector. Of everybody. I don't want Firuun to fight my battles for me."

Khunnier nodded. "But he needs to. He couldn't save Carla, or so many other people. Remember this, Nelonn, and when you are Anla'shok, realize that not everyone wants to be saved."

"I'll remember," Nelonn said. "You are very wise." And very beautiful, he thought. He wished for one moment that they were human, and that Khunnier would touch him, simply touch him on the shoulder or back the way a human would pat someone to comfort them. Just that much.

But of course he did not.

The End


	9. Chapter 9

Windsword 9

The tall warrior approached the crew of the military refueling and cargo ship. "I heard you're going out to the war cruiser Rending Talon. I need a ride."

"Tag along," one of the other warriors invited. It was traditional for Minbari warriors to hitch rides on military ships. Firuun had gotten to this Minbari colony world on commercial transport from Babylon 5.

Firuuun did not explain what he was planning to do when he got there. The point of coming aboard this way instead of flying out on Whitestar 97 was to be able to get onboard without a confrontation between ships. He doubted the captain of the Rending Talon would have allowed him to transfer aboard from Whitestar 97 if he had told him what he was there for.

Once underway, the crew of the military cargo ship congregated in the common room. One of the warriors commented to Firuun, "I hear one of your crewmates jumped ship and bailed out of a perfectly good fightercraft. Crashed and destroyed it. That wasn't you, was it?"

"No. Not me," Firuun answered.

"Good. Well, whenever they catch up with him, I wonder what they'll do? I've never heard of anyone pulling that kind of stunt before."

Firuun was tempted to defend Nelonn's honor, but he choked back on his reply. He did not want the resupply company crew to grow suspicious of him. Nelonn's reputation would attend to itself after Brinon was eliminated.

He kept to himself on the voyage. At last they docked, and Firuun stepped off into the war cruiser's cargo hold. An officious young female warrior, probably the quartermaster's assistant, stopped her work with a checklist on a handcomp to bustle over to Firuun.

"Who are you?"

"Firuun of Clan Imbalo. I must meet with Brinon."

"You're here about Brinon's wayward apprentice?"

"I am here about Brinon's wayward… ways."

"Hmf. When that old religious came here about Brinon's apprentice, the Captain was told Brinon would not be getting any other apprentices. Good riddance, we all said. Disruption of routine. Damage to expensive equipment. Now you're here. What do you want?"

"It is clan business. Be out of the way."

"Do you have permission to be here?" She glanced at her handcomp, as if expecting to find Imbalo, Firuun, 1 each, on her manifest.

When she was looking away from him, Firuun grabbed her shoulder pauldron and spun her around, drawing his unextended denn'bok and putting the handle to her throat.

She squeaked and started to struggle, but he locked his free arm around her, pinning her arms and pulling her back against him, and pulled back slightly with the Fighting Pike. "Quiet," he whispered. "This is clan business, and does not concern you. Pass me through the door."

"What are you doing?" Her eyes slid to the transport crewmen, still unloading crates.

"Quiet," Firuun hissed. "The door." He walked her to the door, and she opened it. They went out into a deserted corridor. "Where is Brinon right now? Quarters? Office?"

"How should I know?"

"Ask the ship, pup. Don't play the fool with me. I was serving on war cruisers before you were born."

Brinon was in his office. Once, on the way there, Firuun had to pull the young quartermaster into a room to avoid someone in the hallway. Luckily, an empty room.

"You're going to get in serious trouble," the young female said.

"I don't think so," Firuun said. "I take it you're not a sportsfan."

"What has that got to do with anything?"

"Most sportsfans would recognize me. A certain famous picture taken on the steps of a temple."

"You are insane."

"No. Merely homicidal."

Firuun pressed her against a wall, and she squeaked like a little varmint. "Minbari do not kill Minbari," she quavered.

"Hush. I'm not here to kill you." With the young warrior sandwiched between himself and the wall, he could let go with one arm and get some cords out of his pocket. He had anticipated he might encounter resistance from the crew. He bound her hands behind her.

Firuun whispered, "This is as good a place to leave you as any." He picked her up and settled her with her back against the wall and seized her legs.

She started to cry.

"Shh, don't be afraid. That's not what I'm here for. I'm only going to tie you so you can't run out and sound the alarm." Firuun tied her ankles together, and then took out a roll of engineer's tape and secured her mouth. "I am sorry, young warrior. Do not fear. I came here to avenge a wrong, not to commit one."

Then he left. He found Brinon's office and let himself in. It was not locked, so he did not need to do anything to the door that would set off any alarms anywhere in the ship. Brinon's office was tiny and bare except for screens built into the wall and shelves full of data crystals, and a holo viewer.

Brinon turned from the holo he was reviewing and stepped back a pace to look up at the tall warrior. "Who are—oh." He could see the family resemblance to Nelonn. And he could feel the tightly controlled, smoldering hatred. "Whatever you have to say, hasn't Venmer already said it?"

"I have only two words to say to you, Brinon of Clan Doshal." Firuun extended his denn'bok. "Den. Sha."

"I never took him," Brinon asserted. "I only thought about it. Nelonn took the images from me. He invaded my mind. Which of us did wrong? Hmm?"

"I am not here to debate you. It does not matter to me exactly what actions you did and did not do. It only matters that the boy felt he had no choice but to escape in a stolen fighter, and was so traumatized he did not speak of it until now. And that you got him so used to being subjected to pain that he continued to do it to himself until I stopped him."

"You think you can stop that so easily, by throwing away equipment? Yes, I see your thoughts. If you've come here to fight me, Firuun of Clan Imbalo, then you are a fool. Your superior size means nothing. Have you ever fought a telepath?"

"If you think you can win then accept the challenge." Firuun shook his Fighting Pike.

Brinon reached as if going for a weapon, but then looked at Firuun intently and Firuun felt himself stagger back from an invisible blow. Brinon fled the cramped office and Friuun staggered after him.

In the wider space of the corridor, Brinon drew his own denn'bok. "That is a taste of what's in store for you. Leave while you can."

"Den sha," Firuun repeated.

"Den sha," Brinon accepted the challenge.

Firuun attacked. He let his Pike slide down his hand and went straight into a maximum-reach swing. Brinon ducked before Firuun even came close to him.

Brinon feinted a thrust to the gut, then swung against Firuun's legs. Firuun shrugged off the blow and counterattacked, no finesse or strategy, just pure brute strength.

Darkness came over him. A darkness filled with twisting, writhing shapes and the glint of cold scales. Firuun's attack petered out and he probed in front of him blindly with his Pike.

He was struck hard on the ribs, and reacted to the blow by striking at where he thought Brinon might be. He connected with something, and the darkness passed. He was back in the corridor of the war cruiser.

"Nice trick," Firuun growled. Then he pounced.

But Brinon knew what he was going to do before he did it. He danced back out of the way, made a peculiar circular motion with the end of his denn'bok that evaded all Firuun's efforts to block it, and hit him hard on the top of his head. His head bone only partially deflected the blow.

Blinking to clear his head, Firuun attacked again, a simple, unthinking reflex blow. This time, he connected. He felt bone snap behind Brinon's chestplate.

Wheezing, Brinon feinted to the head, drawing Firuun's denn'bok up to block, and then smashed him in the knee. But Brinon was not strong enough to break Minbari bone – or perhaps not furious enough. He had to maintain a kind of calm to use telepathic attacks.

Firuun gritted his teeth and kept going. He attacked without thought, and overrode Brinon's block with sheer strength, driving him back.

Firuun's vision cut off again, this time in a red brightness like looking at the sun through closed eyelids. But he heard Brinon's boots ring on the deck behind him, and lifted his Pike to a backward blow.

But the sound had been a trick too. Brinon was still in front of him. He struck Firuun in the throat. Firuun gurgled and went down. He fell on the deck and his Pike clattered, still in his hand as he landed.

Brinon planted the hollow circle of the end of his denn'bok on Firuun's neck and leaned all his Minbari weight against it. "Good bye, Firuun of Clan Imbalo. You should be grateful. This too is one of the many things I have taught Nelonn. I see that he has not practiced it against you, for you were unprepared to fight a telepath."

Firuun's vision swam as he looked up his enemy. Brinon's gloating laughter rang back from the corridor walls.

Firuun still had his Pike in his hand. He attacked upward, striking at Brinon's particulars. Brinon anticipated the blow and turned easily aside, taking the end of Firuun's dennbok against his hip. Brinon laughed.

Firuun's vision was darkening, and this time he knew it was not a telepathic illusion. His throat was crushed, and he was dying.

But he was going to take Brinon with him. He abandoned his Pike and grabbed Brinon's legs with his massive hands, pulling him down.

Brinon ground the Pike deep into Firuun's neck. He was suffocating! Black, black, black, the deeps of space, the starfield, debris all around him, tumbling in the powered worksuit, the red flare of fire with escaping oxygen tunneling out of the holes in the Black Star, corkscrewing into space, scrapnel and decompressed Minbari bodies buffeting him. He screamed in his mind, a wordless, primal fear.

Brinon cried out. He had opened himself to his opponent's mind to project illusions and read the intentions behind each coming blow, and now Firuun's panic cut through him like a saw blade. He did not loosen his grip on his Pike, but he did fail to notice what Firuun was about to do.

Firuun hauled Brinon down on top of him and grabbed him by his neck and headbone. With a sharp blow and a pop he snapped Brinon's neck.

Brinon's form went limp. His denn'bok fell across Firuun.

Firuun let go of what breath he had left in his body. It sighed strangely at his crushed throat, and went no farther. Then everything went dark.

He heard boots on the deck, but it meant nothing.

Firuun's last thought was that he would see Carla again, in that place where she had gone to be with Valen, the place where no shadows fall.

But a shadow fell across his closed eyes, and someone yelled, "Intubate!"

No, Firuun wanted to say. It was den sha. Let both of us die, in the honor of the duel. Let it end here.

But he could not speak, and no one but Brinon could have heard his words in his mind.

He felt them try to force something down his throat. "No good! Prep for surgery!" the voice shouted. Then Firuun passed out.

The End


	10. Chapter 10

The Windsword Clan

Story 10

Author's note: this story is NOT in chronological order. This takes place near the end of Sheridan's life, when he is no longer President and has switched titles with Delenn and become Entilza.

Sheridan's robes flapped around him distractingly as he came into his office. Technically, he supposed they should switch offices too, but he had been walking the same corridor to work every morning since he moved into the Presidential Palace and if he tried to change now he would just confuse himself. His life was winding down.

It was not that he could no longer handle the pressure of the office of the President. It was that he did not have the energy for all the decisions, meetings, and public appearances. It was far easier to handle the duties of Entilza. Especially since peace seemed to have broken out all over.

That was both good and bad. Peace between all the different Alliance races was what he had been working towards all this time, and it was deeply satisfying to have accomplished it before he died. On the other hand, as the new leader of the Anla'shok, he had to keep them in fighting trim somehow.

He sat down behind his desk and eyed one of the twins who had been with his staff since he came to Minbar. "Which one are you again?"

His aide gave a pained, indulgent smile. "That joke is getting very old, Mr. Pr—Entilza Sheridan."

"Aren't you supposed to be with the Presidential staff? You're a little old to go out for Ranger training."

"You would be lost without me. You would wander into a forest of files and never find your way out again."

Sheridan grinned. He had grown to appreciate his aide's dry humor. "They're all on crystal. No paper, no forest."

"They are here," the aide pointed to his headbone. "Your agenda for this week: the day after tomorrow you meet with the budget office."

"That's it?" Sheridan laughed. "Delenn was right, this will be a much easier job."

"You are of course welcome to visit any of the Anla'shok training facilities, meet with the staff of any department at the headquarters, test equipment, create new programs, and so forth. You will find that as Entilza, you run the Anla'shok, the office does not run you."

"Huh. Well that's certainly a welcome change."

"Leading an organization made up of individuals who are all sworn to die at your word is a very different thing from herding all the various species of the Alliance onto the road you have chosen for them."

"Ain't that the truth." He nodded, and then a grin broke out on his face, under the close-trimmed white beard. "New programs, huh? Tell me. How long has it been since the Whitestar Fleet engaged in wargames?"

"In what?"

"Wargames. You know. Divide up into two teams and try out strategies and maneuvers. Practice."

"I do not know. I will find out."

"Do that."

\

Whitestar 1 was a brand new ship. It replaced the old Whitestar 1, which had recently been lost. The very first Whitestar 1 had been sacrificed in a kamikaze attack on Zahadum, so this one was the third of the name.

There were a few improvements to the interior, mostly to make it more livable for interspecies crews and passengers, particularly humans and other races that bathe. But despite having been in production for two decades, there were no technological improvements to the Whitestar class vessel. It still looked and felt more Vorlon than Minbari. Especially the vessel's "skin", which glowed softly in shifting patterns of blue over drab green, like a Vorlon ship.

On Whitestar 1's bridge, white-bearded Sheridan sat in the Captain's chair in the brown robes and Anla'shok badge of Entilza. It still felt strange to him. But it was good to be back in uniform, any uniform, and looking less like a politician.

"When I came up with the idea of having wargames," Sheridan complained, "I pictured being part of the action."

The Whitestar's captain, a Minbari Ranger standing beside his usual chair, waited a moment before speaking, as if considering whether Anla'shok Na actually wanted a response. "With the Red Fleet attacking on two fronts, it is most practical for the command ship to be halfway between, to coordinate with shortest communications lag."

"I know," Sheridan said. "Have we managed to track any of the stragglers from Red Fleet A yet?"

"Not to—"

"Captain—Entilza—," announced the communications crewer. "Picking up a distress signal. A Whitestar. Distance, 12,000 kilometers."

"Put it on," ordered Sheridan.

A beeping sound came on. "It is just the automated distress beacon. Communications may be out."

The sensor tech said, "I am not reading any power readings. Power may be out on the ship."

"Alright, take us in. Carefully, though."

The pilot moved Whitestar 1 silently. Minbari did not have a tradition of verbal acknowledgement of orders. As he approached, the pilot began maneuvering the Whitestar as if running an obstacle course.

Whatever the pilot was avoiding, Sheridan could not see it out the front windows. They were far from any star, and no light fell on the space rocks all around them. The ceiling display was not showing local space, but had been turned into a sector map to track the fleet action. The newly detected Whitestar popped onto the map, with its number in Minbari characters. Sheridan had learned to speak Minbari, but he still had trouble reading their numerical system, which was not base 10.

The sensor tech said, "I am picking up the Whitestar now, having traced their distress beacon. I am not reading any damage, but its engines are offline."

"What could have happened to them way out here?" Sheridan wondered.

"They are restarting their engines. Engine emissions appear normal. They are under way. Entilza, they are not moving towards us. They are moving away. Deeper into the asteroid field."

"Asteroid field. Damn!" Sheridan jumped up from the Captain's seat. "Full reverse! Get us out of—"

Bright white flashes erupted all around them. It was beautiful in its way, like fireworks. They came in the front windows, and were echoed on the holographic starfield on the bridge's ceiling, in the tiny section in the middle of the map showing Whitestar 1's location.

The Minbari crew were confused. "What is going on? I am registering simulated hits. But where are they coming from? I do not see any other ships."

"The distress beacon has ceased transmitting," reported the communications crewer.

"Damn!" Sheridan kicked the Captain's chair. "I can't believe they suckered me with THAT. I can't believe they suckered ME with that."

The ship's actual captain, a sturdy Minbari Ranger of middle age, looked down from the holographic starfield on the ceiling to stare at Sheridan. He had clearly figured out what Sheridan was referring to. "No. No Minbari crew would go along with that. Especially not that one. It must be something else."

"Why not that one?" Sheridan asked. "Which Whitestar is it?"

"Communication coming in," announced the white robed religious caste crewer at the communications station.

"Put it on," ordered Sheridan.

The image of Firuun came onto the screen. He had not aged as quickly as Sheridan, and still looked much the same: a giant, muscular Minbari in warrior caste black, with sharp, pointy head bone spikes.

"Got you. Starkiller."

Sheridan's jaw dropped for just a second. No one had called him that to his face in years.

Some of Whitestar 1's crew gasped. Then there was a frozen silence.

But then Sheridan saw the sparkle in Firuun's eye, and realized he meant it in fun.

Sheridan grinned and chuckled. "Yes, you did."

"Well?"

"Well what? Oh. Right. Wargames are over. You won."

"Aren't you going to surrender?"

Sheridan spread his arms. "I'm dead."

"There was one survivor."

"Of course."

"Shall I send a pod for you?"

"The wargames are over, Firuun. Don't you think that's taking things a little far?"

"Got a case of beer. Come make a toast to Carla?"

"Sure. Of course. Wait, a case? By myself? I think that might be against the Articles of War. Uh. Sorry, not funny."

"See you soon." The comm cut out.

"What was that all about?" asked the Ranger captain.

"What do you think it was about? We just re-enacted the destruction of the Black Star. To be really accurate I ought to be sending over a bewildered second engineer in a powered work suit."

The crew of Whitestar 1 were all staring at him wide-eyed. It was peculiar for religious caste Minbari to stare in that way, and even stranger on the bridge of a ship, where they all had screens to watch at their stations.

The Ranger captain was still staring too, but with eyes narrowed in thought.

"That was the very odd beginning of our very odd friendship," Sheridan explained.

He gestured for the Ranger captain to resume the Captain's chair, which the Minbari did without taking his eyes off Sheridan. "That warrior is your friend?"

"How to win friends and influence people. Sheridan style. Step one. Blow apart a ship in space. Step two. Don't be a sonuvabitch about it." He shrugged. "Long before there was any proof of Minbari souls being reborn in humans, Firuun's been convinced I'm the reincarnation of Tiluun."

"Ah." The Ranger captain's eyes lit with comprehension. "The famous 'dignity' speech. I know it well. Tiluun was an ancestor of mine."

Sheridan nodded. So the Ranger captain had been born warrior caste. "Take care of the details of ending the wargame for me. I'm going to pod over. Depending on how seriously Firuun is taking his forty year old revenge, this could be a very strange little party. But yes, Firuun really is my friend. And I expect he wants a chance to show off his hospitality. Perfect symmetry."

"Who is he?" the Ranger captain asked. "I know the captain of Whitestar 97. Shai-alyt Khunnier. I know he has a warrior caste crew, but normally it would be the captain who would plan strategies and talk to other ships. And I know most of his officers on sight."

"Firuun's been retired for years. Went home to the clan fortress to take care of the business of being the Windsword clan chief, a few years after Carla died. I think Khunnier must have invited him to the wargames just to give him the chance to turn the tables on me. They must have been planning on using space mines from the moment they heard about the wargames."

A few of the bridge crew who had not figured that out yet murmured to each other when they heard about the space mines.

"In fact, I wonder if the entire split of the Red Fleet was meant to draw me away from screening vessels to precisely this location?" Sheridan wondered. "I wouldn't put it past Firuun to stage-manage the whole fleet action without having any official place in the chain of command. A lot of his clansmen who started their careers on Whitestar 97 have moved up in rank by going to other ships, now that we have mostly integrated crews. He's got Windswords all over the Whitestar Fleet now."

Whitestar 1 was one of the few Whitestars left with an entirely religious caste crew, by tradition. Minbari were big on tradition. And no one could deny that the religious caste had fought well in the Shadow War. In retrospect, most of the warrior caste felt left out.

Sheridan took a personnel pod over to Whitestar 97. Khunnier had his crew turned out in escort formation to greet him.

Khunnier bowed in the Minbari way, hands in the triangle gesture. "Welcome aboard, Entilza Sheridan."

"Thank you, Khunnier. Congratulations on winning the wargame, though you know it's against regulations to send a false distress signal."

Khunnier shrugged, a gesture he had picked up from Whitestar 97's previous Captain. "Both the congratulations and the reprimand belong to another."

"Your ship, your fame," Sheridan said. "Where is Firuun, anyway?"

"Waiting for you. With a friend. You won't be drinking that beer alone."

"Oh? Who is it? Admiral James?"

Khunnier smiled slyly and led Sheridan to the viewing room, which had been transformed into a human style sitting room with couches and a coffee table. The holographic display was showing a blue sky with puffy white clouds, and occasional bird calls.

Firuun got up to meet Sheridan with a grin on his face and his arms out for a bear hug. The two of them laughed and squeezed, and then sat down.

Sheridan turned to the woman sitting next to the chilled beer. "You look awfully familiar, but I just can't place you. Logically, you've got to be one of my old crewmen from the Lexington, or maybe the Agamemnon."

She handed him a beer, "You're on the right track, sir."

"Oh my God. Laura Craigman?"

Firuun grinned. "Brought you a friend."

Sheridan laughed. "Firuun, that is really taking things too far. I see you really did plan this all out from the beginning. Awfully cocky about winning, weren't you?"

Firuun smiled. "Why not? Nobody would expect it."

"I would have expected it if I'd known you were aboard. So how did you get Craigman all the way out here in time?"

Craigman answered, "I was already on Minbar. After Piper Colony I had trouble finding work for a while, even though I was cleared of complicity. Earth companies all pretty much use the same background check company, and that company just was not impressed with the word of a Minbari telepath. They saw a conspiracy there. Eventually I gave up trying to get a job in security with another human corporation. I moved to Minbar and found work with a Minbari company, and I've been there ever since."

"Well who'd have thought that, huh?" Sheridan shook his head. "And they didn't have a problem with hiring a former Earth Force intelligence officer?"

"On the contrary." Craigman carefully waited until Sheridan had his beer bottle tipped back and then deadpanned, "I gave Firuun's name as a reference."

Sheridan did not oblige by spraying his beer. He did cough a bit and start laughing, and gave her a look that might have been scary if he had not been laughing at the same time.

Firuun and Craigman laughed too.

Firuun said, "You should have seen their faces, John. Worker caste Minbari can get really nervous approaching a military caste clan head. At the start of the comm call I had to tell them to look up and stop being so deferential that they weren't speaking directly into their comm pickup."

Sheridan smiled and nodded. He could just picture that.

"Two of them called me to ask me about Craigman. They asked in what context I had worked with her. So I told them, Craigman didn't work with me, she worked on me. And she did a good job on me. I thought their eyes were going to pop out of their heads."

Sheridan shook his head. "How weird all this has become. There's just one thing I'm sure of. This is damn good beer."

They spent the rest of the day catching up. When the Whitestar Fleet was reassembled, Sheridan was about to pod back over to Whitestar 1 for a mass conference in the various ships' viewing rooms, to discuss the wargames.

"Good bye, Firuun. Let's do this again real soon. The sitting around chatting part, not the me losing part."

"Agreed," Firuun boomed. They shook hands and Sheridan went back to his ship.

The End.


	11. Chapter 11

Windsword 11

Author's note: We're back in the storyline, picking up from the Firuun Vs. Brinon denn'bok fight.

Sheridan had never really thought about what a Minbari military prison would look like. But when he did think of it, he assumed it would be a high-tech place, full of force fields, like in an old Earth science fiction movie.

Actually Bidooshor Prison was a crumbling structure of grey mud bricks. It would have looked perfectly at home with an old Earth Turkish flag flying over it.

Despite being carefully boxed in by four Anla'shok bodyguards, the place still made Sheridan nervous. This was a part of Minbari culture he never really wanted to think about.

The prison officials at the front door and internal gates opened the way for him without a word, bowing with their hands in the triangle position. It was a very different response from the first time he had tried to get in here, and it set the hair on the back of his neck on end. He briefly imagined snipers taking out his bodyguards, and someone shouting 'Starkiller'—someone other than Firuun.

He walked down a row of cells with actual iron bars on the front. It was jarringly primitive. The only advanced technology in evidence was the ray guns carried by the military guards.

Firuun reclined on the sleeping platform in his cell, with his feet hanging over the edge.

"Firuun. Damn, I hate seeing you like this."

Firuun focused on Sheridan's face, and for a few seconds he did not react, as if wondering if he was imagining things. When he spoke, his voice was subdued, still a basso profundo but no longer as loud as it was before the denn'bok fight and the damage to his throat.

"You know, this is the first time you've visited me in a cell."

"Yeah, I know I never came to see you in the weeks you were on the Lexington, except when you were first brought aboard. I'm usually more of a hands-on kind of guy, but Craigman had a good thing going and I didn't want to mess it up."

"What do you mean by 'hands-on'," Firuun rumbled, glowering at Sheridan.

"Oh. No. Not—no. I meant I usually like to investigate things in person. I would have come down to just check on you, see for myself. But Craigman was getting such a lot out of you, I didn't want to step on her toes."

"Mmm." Firuun nodded.

"So. Why are you in there, Firuun? I thought that in Minbari culture it was acceptable to kill someone in a den sha match."

"It is. This is for assaulting the quartermaster's assistant who got in my way when I was trying to get to Brinon."

"Oh. And how come the prison officials have been stonewalling me for weeks about coming to visit you and suddenly I'm welcome on 'clan business'?"

"Oh. That. Never mind, it was just an excuse to get you in here. I would never ask you to help with that."

"With what, Firuun?" There was a pause. "Come on. I can't make the Minbari government drop the charges against you; it would be corruption to use the power of my office that way. The Alliance is supposed to let each member race govern its own affairs. But if there's something else I can do, I'd like to know what it is."

Firuun cleared his throat and stood up. He had to hunch slightly, and put his hand on the ceiling to guide himself to the proper height.

"Good god," Sheridan said. "Your cell is too small for you to stand up in. This is, is, is…"

"Undignified?" Firuun asked.

"I am going to get you out of here. I can't get you released but I can by God get you decent treatment."

Firuun shrugged. "This is a very old prison. Most Minbari are short. And we were shorter once."

"Yeah, that's happened to humans too. The species getting taller on average as access to food and medical care advanced. But surely there are other places they could keep you. I'll see to it. Actually, I'll have Delenn see to it, and then it will be an internal Minbari matter." Sheridan made a hand-clapping gesture. "Perfect." Then he shook his head. "It's sad what a political animal I've become. I miss being a soldier. So. What is this 'clan business'?"

"Mmm. The quatermaster's assistant's clan has challenged me."

"To another duel?"

"No. To the Ritual of Endurance."

"Oh." Sheridan's face drained.

"I don't think it was their own idea. They seemed perfectly content with having me imprisoned, until a few days ago. A messenger showed up demanding concessions from Clan Imbalo. We would of course give reasonable concessions, but they demanded the clan fortress. I cannot give that away. They asked for something they know we would refuse, because they want me to send a Champion to the Ritual. I can't ask any of my own clan members, of course. You know how this works, how a Champion is chosen."

"A Former Enemy. Let me guess. Somebody put them up to this. And that somebody would be Recnar. Because he wants a rematch."

"Yes."

"Damn."

"I know it would not work again. You were careful not to implicate your Handler directly, but it was not hard to guess what was going on. And now Lennier is a deserter."

"It's a little more complicated than that, but you're right, I couldn't count on him again."

"I tried to bluff them, but they were not having it. And I could not pretend I did not receive the message, the prison officials let the messenger in here to deliver it."

"Nice of them."

"I am not going to ask this of you, John. You did what you did before for your wife, and for the Alliance. I don't expect you to do the same for anyone else. And in any case, it would not work again. Recnar clearly thinks he can win this time. Which means he has some way around how you won the last time. My guess is that he has become bonded. This time he would take the drug."

"Yeah. You're probably right."

Firuun coughed. "They did a good job patching up my throat, but it's still a little scratchy."

"Oh, were you injured in the fight?"

Firuun nodded.

"What is it with you guys and throats, anyway?"

"There are only a limited number of ways one can kill a Minbari with a blunt object."

"Oh. Of course. Firuun. Has anyone from your clan come to pick up the robe and sashes?"

"Yes, Dibrienn has. She is an old grandmother who lives at the clan fortress full time."

"What's going to happen if you don't send a Former Enemy to the Ritual?"

"The Serati clan will take the Imbalo clan fortress. Which would be a permanent disgrace to the clan. Unless we defend it by force, in which case we are talking about a clan war like in the time before Valen."

"Which will you do, Firuun? You're the Windsword clan chief, it's your decision."

"We cannot give up the clan fortress and call ourselves warriors. If I mandate that, all of us will have to join the worker caste. And anyone whose heart is warrior will have to challenge me for the clan leadership or support someone who will. One of my clan will bring the Windsword here and kill me. Among the Windswords a clan chief is only allowed to step aside voluntarily when going to the Sea."

"Oh."

"Then the one who killed me would defend the fortress, or perhaps send someone to the Ritual. Whoever it is would have a different set of Former Enemies than me. I cannot think of any member of my clan who has one, but I do not know everything about everyone."

"Sounds like they've really got you between a rock and a hard place, Firuun. I'll give this some thought. And I will see that you're moved someplace with a higher ceiling." Sheridan walked slowly away, lost in thought.

"Good bye, John," Firuun sighed.

\

Back in the bright and airy Presidential Palace, Sheridan came to Delenn's wing, where she performed the business of Entilza. "What would happen if the Windsword clan either turned worker caste or got into a clan war?"

"What?"

"The Windswords versus Clan Serati. Minbari killing Minbari."

"Is it about to come to that? Why have I heard nothing from Grey Council? Or the Rangers?"

"Nobody knows about this yet but the clans involved. Firuun told me."

"This situation cannot be. It would destabilize the whole Minbari Federation. Every war cruiser and military base in Minbari space would have a rash of deserters either way, either leaving the caste or going home to the clan fortress to fight. If their commanders tried to stop them, we could end up with a civil war within the warrior caste. And I do not think every race in the Alliance bears us such goodwill that they would ignore our vulnerability."

"You mean one of your neighbors would invade you if you looked weak."

"Yes. I think so. The Centauri are expansionist and power hungry, the Drazzi will attack anything that looks like an easy target, and given a sufficient show of weakness and a rallying cry for revenge, it could even be Earth."

"Damn. But you're right."

"Or all three of them, of course. Together, separately, or in various combinations."

"So, for the sake of the Alliance, I have to do something."

"What can you do? You cannot prevent the Imbalos and the Serati from feuding with each other."

"Yes. Actually, I can. And I will."

"What are you planning, John? I know that look. Whatever it is, it's going to be dangerous."

"Not as much as a shooting war."

"John."

"I know. But what I'm planning won't kill anybody. I need to talk to Dibrienn of Clan Imbalo."


	12. Chapter 12

The Windsword Clan

Story 12: Khunnier/ Nelonn

Author's Note: Here it is Faerylark! You suggested this pairing way back in Chapter 2 and I've been working towards it. Voila!

"I wish Firuun could be here," Nelonn remarked to no one in particular. He was standing in front of a serried rank of his clansmen, nearly all of them in warrior caste black. Only a few were in civilian clothes. Behind them stood a much smaller line of Nelonn's friends, mostly crewmen from Whitestar 97 and from the war cruiser Rending Talon, all in war armor. Khunnier, in his Anla'shok uniform, stood with those of his crew who were not Windswords.

Aged Venmer in his gold religious robe stood with a few of his patients whom Nelonn had particularly helped, among them a middle aged worker caste lady in the typical Minbari silk gown—who had a denn'bok at her hip.

The group was a triple line of various clan allies of the Imbalos. Those who actually bore Windsword blood, descendents of Imbalo daughters married to other clans, stood in front.

Those only related by marriage alliances stood in the second rank. Most of Clan Itma stood there. They were by far the largest group, having turned out in force for some clan business other than celebrating Nelonn's coming of age.

Behind them stood a smattering of friends of various Windswords other than Nelonn himself. Among those was a female in a plain black cloak over her Minbari silk dress, hood pulled low over her face, giving off the air of a celebrity not wanting to be recognized. The effect was spoiled by the fact that when she arrived, plainclothes but badge-wearing Anla'shok took up sniper positions all around the gleaming gold and white temple. It could only be Entilza Delenn. She too was there on clan business that had only a tangential relationship to Nelonn's rite of passage.

"We all wish that, son," said a kindly voice behind him.

Nelonn turned and saw his parents. He knew nearly the whole clan would be attending his adulthood ceremony, but he had not seen his parents in so long that the sight of them startled him. They were short!

Nelonn heart touched with his father first, since he had spoken, and then his mother.

Then a tinkling of shaken bells alerted him to the opening of the temple doors, and he turned back around. He would have to catch up with them later. He had never been particularly close to his parents anyway, having been raised in the clan fortress by whoever happened to be there while they served on a war cruiser.

Religious filed out of the temple in a double line and flowed down the outside edge of the steps, and took up positions on the narrowing stairway. The shape of their formation looked like a funnel. The high pitched bells clinked against inside the temple, and the religious each held out one arm to Nelonn, beckoning him forward.

He walked up the steps and entered the temple, and the religious walked to and fro in front of the door, in a pattern the meaning of which was known only to the religious caste. Then they followed him inside.

The door closed, and the assembly outside broke up and began conversing in hushed tones.

Inside the temple, Nelonn was brought into the light falling from a window high in the east wall. Unlike the spotlights in the viewing rooms of Minbari ships, this light was not round but rectangular with an arch at the top. It was the shape of a medieval church window from old Earth, a shape unknown in Minbari architecture before Valen.

Nelonn looked up at the window, and its golden stained glass. He realized now that the color was chosen to make the light falling from it shine gold on the white temple floor, the precise color of Earthly sunlight. For this was the house of Valen.

He grew misty-eyed at this realization. How had he known what the sunlight on Earth should look like? It was one of Carla Punch's memories, of course.

He would have to remember to tell Khunnier about this insight. He had once said he was not smart like Khunnier, but he had been a child then. Now his mind was working just fine.

A religious elder spoke at length, ritual phrases in archaic Minbari and his own interpretations in modern Adrenato interspersed with the occasional word in Lenn'ah referring to Nelonn's presumed destiny as a member of the warrior caste.

The sunlight crept across the temple floor as the elder spoke. The light left Nelonn, and then returned: the light from a second window fell on him, rose colored but otherwise plain. The elder began to sing.

The singsong chant rolled on in archaic Minbari, the Minbari of the time of Valen, when the differences between the caste languages were little more than collections of professional jargon. The sound of this singing was another innovation brought by Valen, whom some called a war leader and some called a god. And some called Jeffrey Sinclair. The sound echoed back from the Gothic vaulted ceiling. Song, architecture, even the craft of colored glasswork, all innovations brought by Valen as casually scattered seeds in the middle of the great war that claimed the majority of his thought.

Then that light passed from him too. White robes fluttered as the acolytes of the temple slipped in and walked in concentric circles, carrying bowls of incense giving off variously colored smokes. Then they passed like smoke themselves. Three gold robed religious came to Nelonn from separate doors. One carried a bottle and anointed his pate with oil.

One held a bird in her hands. It fluttered and tweeted. Nelonn had to invoke a mental discipline to keep himself from stepping away from its feathery wings.

Another gold figure poured something cold over his headbone. It ran down his back, and Nelonn found himself sniffing sharply to make sure he did not catch the scent of blood. Whatever it was did not have a smell; it was probably some kind of holy water.

A third light came to him. The third and final light was multicolored, full of strange geometries, but somehow managed to put the light from an uncolored pane squarely on Nelonn's face, so that he saw the normal light of a blue Minbari day, and faced reality at last.

The religious elder spoke of the Covenant with Valen, and all the duties of a good Minbari. Nelonn wondered if it was really Valen who first commanded the Minbari to strip off the waxy substance they excreted at night, every morning, or if they had already been doing that and simply ascribed it to Valen. He pictured a modern human suddenly finding himself in the midst of filthy wax-covered Minbari barbarians whose skin did not look nearly as human-like as a modern Minbari's wax-stripped skin. Perhaps it was true, and Valen had commanded they remove the wax.

The ceremony was almost over. Nelonn was on edge from the length of time he had been standing and listening. His feet hurt, he was hungry and thirsty and he had to find the head very soon. How did the elderly religious manage it?

He could find out easily enough. He could reach out to the elder's mind and find out if there was some trick to it, or if he was as weary of this ritual as Nelonn was. Nelonn had the good manners not to give in to that temptation.

The three retreated, taking the bottle, the pitcher, and the bird with them. The elder stepped forward and set his hand on Nelonn's heart. "Always follow the calling of your heart," he said. Then he turned Nelonn and gave him a little shove toward the door.

Nelonn walked outside. It was evening. His clanmates and friends were now sitting at little tables, and a feast was waiting to be served. When he started down the steps, unseen bell-shakers made a ceremonial noise, and the assembly looked up.

With a great susurrus they stood and rubbed hand on hand, the Minbari equivalent of a cheer. A few close relatives made the gesture with each other, hand to neighbor's hand, one of the very few times Minbari ever touched in public.

Nelonn did not feel any different than he had this morning. Wasn't he supposed to feel changed, suddenly adult?

He spotted Khunnier, and he knew what would make him feel like an adult at last.

But first he really, really, really had to find a place to relieve himself. And then have dinner. And socialize with various relatives, most of whom he would have to ask, "And who are you related to again?"

Nelonn got through the feasting and socializing, constantly glancing at Khunnier and wondering when he could reasonably approach him without a crowd of Windswords and crewmen around, but before Khunnier took off to go back to the ship.

He need not have worried. As evening came on, colorful tents were pitched on the field in front of the temple. It seemed everyone was staying.

Then Nelonn relaxed and finally noticed how good the food was, and realized one of the Itmas was singing in English. He looked for the rest of Carla's adopted clan and spotted Dovec shepharding a group of dalshon females around, encouraging them to talk with their Windsword in-laws and 'translating' for them when speaking with unrelated persons.

As Nelonn focused on him he accidently picked up his surface thoughts, and caught the phrase 'that's it girls, play this right and there'll be no inbred dalshon imbeciles in the next generation.' It seemed Dovec's purpose in bringing the Itmas here was to provide the opportunity for the young people to meet possible mates. The dalshon tradition that females could only speak directly to relatives had its downside, after all.

In the gathering dark, Nelonn started off to finally go speak with Khunnier when he was cornered by Dibrienn. The Windsword matron would have looked like a little shriveled old thing except that she was very tall and straight, like a lodgepole.

"How strong a telepath are you, Nelonn?"

"Very strong," he said. "Stronger than Venmer."

"Good. I want you to delay your entry into the Anla'shok for a few days. There is clan business that needs doing."

He listened to her plan. Her whole plan. Then he said yes.

"But I have already been accepted into the Anla'shok. I go to Tuzanor tomorrow."

"It is all arranged with Entilza," Dibrienn said. "You will go to Tuzanor when the Ritual is done. You cannot appear in a public ritual wearing an Anla'shok uniform anyway, if you intend to work undercover."

"Yes. That's true. I hadn't thought of that."

Nelonn escaped Dibrienn with his mind churning. What she wanted of him was possible, but it would be difficult. Not just a difficult test of his telepathic skills, but emotionally—well, difficult. Awkward did not quite cover it; horrifying was close but spilled over into exciting, desirable, Brinon-like.

And that only made Nelonn more determined to fulfill his dream with Khunnier. Now. Tonight.

Nelonn waited for Khunnier to retire to his tent. Then he slipped in after him. "Khunnier?" Nelonn whispered. "No, don't light the candle. People outside will see our shadows on the tent walls if we light the tent up."

"You are allowed to visit people, Nelonn," Khunnier said.

"If Brinon were still alive, this is the day he had planned to take me."

"Oh. Of course. Sit down." There was the sound of Khunnier patting the tent fabric over the dry grass.

Nelonn sat down.

"So you come to me for advice?" Khunnier asked.

"No. Not for advice. Not to be counseled. I'd go to Venmer if that was what I wanted. Needed."

Nelonn edged up to Khunnier and let his arm 'casually' rest against Khunnier's arm. Khunnier did not pull away. Encouraged, Nelonn inched a little closer.

"On Desnara, coming of age is a very different kind of ritual," Nelonn breathed.

"Don't scan me, Nelonn. It's rude."

"Too late. I've known for a long time. I wasn't even scanning you then. I've always wanted to talk to you about that. I think I could help, you know. I think we could both get what we want."

"What do you want, Nelonn?"

"I want what was planned for me. I just… I just didn't want it from Brinon. He is—was—old and all withery and… No, that's not it. It wasn't about the body. Exactly. Although yours is a lot nicer."

"You want to be taken?" Khunnier asked. His voice was low, although not quite the whisper that Nelonn's was.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I just do. The thought excites me. It terrified me when I saw it in Brinon's mind. Terrified me beyond reason. But I need… I need…"

Nelonn reached out tentatively and took Khunnier's hand. He had never actually held anyone's hand before. It was not a Minbari gesture. But it seemed natural to him.

Khunnier picked up on it right away, although he did not pull his hand away. "That's a human gesture." Khunnier was whispering now, too. "How much of you is Carla?"

"A lot. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror, and I'm surprised to see a Minbari."

"Hasn't Venmer helped you with that?"

"Of course. But he's helped me accept it, not tried to change me. It happens to telepaths, especially those who are born into families that don't recognize the talent when it first manifests. Families that can't teach us how to shield when we need to. We end up in other peoples' dreams, and nightmares. Our subconscious locks on someone else's memories. Normally, the people dreaming around a new child telepath would either be his family, or if he's been dedicated to a religious order, other members of the order. Either way it would be people who share a lot of the same subconscious."

"I see," Khunnier said. "The same culture, the same history. The same family stories. But you locked on a human."

"A female human," Nelonn said. "I have needs I'm not equipped to have fulfilled. But I can come close. With the things Brinon planned to do to me. With the things that would be done during a Desnaran rite of passage."

"I am—I'm not gay, Nelonn."

"I know."

Nelonn let go of Khunnier's hand and knelt on all fours before him, going into position like a Desnaran would. "But I also know you feel the need for this even more than I do. I have a physical yearning. You have a burning emotional need. To take back your power by doing the doing instead of being done to."

"Nelonn… I don't want to take your power."

"No. You want Rosho's. And Trebo's, and Frel's. They made you. And they put you in a female role. And you haven't felt the same since. But you've internalized an alien culture, too. It's not just me and Carla's memories and the humans. You've become emotionally part Desnaran. You won't feel comfortable being a leader, being a Captain, until you take someone."

"Stop reading my mind."

"Is it too intimate for you, Khunnier? Because what we both want is very intimate."

Khunnier sighed and got up onto his knees, and scrabbled over to Nelonn. He put his hand on Nelonn's rump. "If we do this… you understand, it's only going to be tonight. After this I won't have this need anymore."

"I know."

"I don't have any… stuff," Khunnier said. "Wait here. I'm going to get some salad oil off of the buffet table."

Nelonn mewed in frustration as Khunnier stood up.

"I'll be right back," Khunnier whispered. "Undress for me and be in position when I get back."

Nelonn undressed silently in the dark tent and set his war armor aside. The night breeze came through the fabric of the tent wall and moved coolly against his bare skin.

For a moment he thought, "What am I doing?" But then he answered himself: "What I have longed to do."

When Khunnier returned, he knelt behind Nelonn and explored him with his hands, feeling his way in the dark. Nelonn shuddered at the memory of Brinon's hands, but it passed, and Nelonn relaxed.

Khunnier poured the oil over Nelonn's backside, letting it run down the crack. He smeared it on one of his hands, leaving the other clean to work at the fastenings of his pants. He worked one oily finger in Nelonn's tight behind.

Brinon had had a finger in him once, too. But this time he did not feel violated, but fulfilled.

Khunnier worked in a second finger and freed himself with his clean hand. He wanted to take his time, and make sure he did not hurt Nelonn. But he was suddenly very excited at the unaccustomed opportunity, just as Trebo and Frel had been. Khunnier oiled himself and eased partway into Nelonn.

Nelonn whimpered slightly, and Khunnier made himself stop. He waited until he felt Nelonn relax around him. Then he pushed slowly the rest of the way in. Then he made himself stop again.

Khunnier gave Nelonn a few seconds to adjust before he started moving in and out. Slowly, very slowly. He re-oiled his shaft on the backswing with the leftover oil on his hand.

Gradually he increased the pace. Then he heard someone walk past the tent, and froze for a moment. When he started up again, there was a weird not-light in the room.

"What is that?" Khunnier whispered.

"Moonlight," Nelonn whispered back. "Do you like it? It's like Earth's moon."

"Someone will see us."

"It's only in your mind."

"Are you inside my mind, Nelonn? The way I'm inside your ass?"

"No. I'm only projecting an image. Do you want to be inside my mind? I can show you what I'm feeling. You can feel along."

"No. I don't want the feeling of being mounted. I hate it. If you like it, that's fine for you. But I don't want to be in your position. Ever. Ever again."

"OK."

"And turn off the moonlight."

"OK." The bluish light shut off abruptly, and darkness swallowed them.

"And put your face on the ground."

Nelonn obeyed.

"Put your hands up under you and take a ball in each hand and stretch them apart."

Nelonn did as directed, and there was a hitch in his panting breaths.

"Legs apart. Wider."

Nelonn moved his legs, and the new angle made him hold his breath to keep from making noise and attracting attention from outside the tent.

Khunnier finished hard. He pulled out, and sat down. Nelonn collapsed to the tent floor, breathing heavily, head swimming.

Khunnier whispered, "You're not done, are you?"

"Not yet," Nelonn whispered back.

"Here," Khunnier said. "I'm going to put in a placeholder to keep you stretched out until I'm ready to take you again." Khunnier patted around on the tent floor and came up with the mallet he had used to pound in the tent stakes. The handle was smooth wood. He oiled it up and slid it gently into Nelonn.

Khunnier wiped himself off on a party towel and ran his hands down Nelonn's cool skin. The muscles in Nelonn's back and arms were sculpted like marble. His smooth buttocks and legs were stone-hard to a firm grip into the muscles but soft to a caress of the young skin.

Khunnier worked the mallet handle in and out and carefully squeezed Nelonn's genitals until Khunnier felt Nelonn start holding his breath. Then he let go and rolled Nelonn onto his back. He pulled up Nelonn's tree-trunk legs and positioned them high and apart, spread like a woman. The magnificent creature held position without being told.

Khunnier re-oiled himself and pulled the wooden handle out of Nelonn. He lined up and pushed past the sphincter, and then he slammed down. Nelonn cried out for a split second and then cut himself off. Khunnier took him hard this time, and pinched and twisted his little vestigial nipples.

Khunnier pulled on Nelonn's shaft and rammed his ass until they both came hard and fell in a heap, panting and satiated.

Khunnier stayed inside him for a few minutes. Then he got up and pulled up his pants. "Someday," Khunnier predicted, "you're going to stop wanting to be a woman. They're not your own memories or desires. Someday you're going to want to be a male again."

"Probably," Nelonn mumbled. "But not tonight."


	13. Chapter 13

The Windsword Clan

Story 13 The Ritual of Endurance

Delenn swept into Sheridan's office with her battle face on. "Out," she ordered one of his staffers, who had been leaning over the desk pointing something out to him on a paper. The Minbari office worker obeyed her without hesitation, and without looking to his nominal boss for confirmation.

Delenn accused, "I know what you are planning to do, John."

"Don't try to stop me, Delenn. You know what's at stake. What will happen if there's another Minbari civil war."

"I'm not going to stop you. I'm going with you. I will take the white sash."

"Oh no you don't."

"You need an Alternate."

"Not you. I'll refuse the whole thing. I'll concede if you put yourself in harm's way."

Delenn sighed. She seemed to soften for a moment, with a faint smile, considering that Sheridan's obstinacy was how he expressed his love for her. Then her face turned hard, and her voice turned hard, and very Minbari. "Then I have no choice. I will have a human Ranger assassinate Recnar."

"What? You can't do that."

"Yes, I can. I am Entilza. Do you doubt there are Anla'shok who will do anything I say? Anything. Even, say, keep you here."

"What?"

"You can't go to the Ritual without an Alternate. If you become incapacitated and have no one to take over for you, you could die. You have few enough years already."

"That again. Delenn, I'm sorry, but—"

"I know." Delenn came around his desk and stood close and placed her hand over his heart. "I love you, John. I can't let anything happen to you. This is no different from the choice I made in the test by Sebastian."

"I—" He stood up and put his arms around her. "Delenn, I don't want anything to happen to you either."

"Of course. But you must have an Alternate, or I will not let you go. I will order your own bodyguards to imprison you in the Palace, and they will do it."

"You don't play fair, do you?" Sheridan said it with a reluctantly admiring smile.

"Never." Delenn smiled back.

\

Nelonn accepted the black Handler's sash from Dibrienn. He put it on over his war armor, and it seemed to disappear, black on black, except for the line of pale circles marching up his chest. For a moment they looked like targets.

He imagined someone with an old fashioned Earth machine gun. The firing pattern would look just like this, the shots rising as they swept across the body, due to recoil. How the hell did he know that?

Ah. Of course. The shooter in his imagination was a human in a green uniform. A Marine.

He shook off the image with a few blinks and a bit of a meditation that Venmer had taught him. Dibrienn was handing him a data crystal.

"The Sheridan Vs. Recnar Highlight Reel," Dibrienn said.

"Thank you. I will study it."

Nelonn went immediately to a small parlor there in the clan fortress which had a crystal reader. He sat down on some ratty old furniture and watched the holographic images. He had never watched the highlight reel before, although he had heard of it.

There was Sheridan, and Firuun, and Lennier. Dibrienn had explained what was expected of Nelonn in that regard. It made him nervous.

Was that Comac the Torturer? It was. This was going to be interesting.

Nelonn gasped. A portable field interrogation station. If Sheridan had his Handler use that before, then he would let it be done again. Nelonn would have access to all of that. He could just requisition it, and it would be his.

He watched the match carefully, often pausing the image to get a closer look at what Recnar had brought with him and how it was used. And then…

Sucker wire.

Nelonn's breath caught again. Sheridan let sucker wire be used on him. More, he arranged it on himself like he had done it before. This was going to be… fun.

Nelonn had never worked on a human. He imagined human flesh under his hands, placing the suction cups just so. And Nelonn would experience both halves, the doing to and the done to, because he would be along for the ride inside Sheridan's mind.

Nelonn was excited. So, Sheridan was not a model of youth and beauty like Khunnier, or like Nelonn himself. It didn't matter anymore.

What mattered was what he would let Nelonn do to him. And Nelonn suddenly realized it would be a terrible idea to find that out only during the Ritual. He needed to discuss it. He needed to practice. And he needed a portable field interrogation station. He needed to go to the Alliance capitol and speak with Sheridan.

Nelonn re-ran the highlight reel several times on his way. He had imagined going to the next town and taking the maglev, but when he spoke to Dibrienn about going to the IA capitol, she had made a call and he was whisked off in a brand new Whitestar just off the production lines, not yet staffed, and flown by Rangers who were members of the house guards, Sheridan's bodyguards.

Nelonn wore the sash into the Palace and was escorted immediately to Sheridan's office. A frustrated looking Narn was just leaving. Nelonn wondered if Sheridan had just kicked him out to meet with Nelonn.

Entering the office, Nelonn bowed politely in the Minbari way. Sheridan gestured him to a seat. Nelonn sat nervously, and too straight. This was the heart of the Interstellar Alliance. That man lounging back in his leather and wood execu-chair was the most powerful being in the galaxy.

"So you're Dibrienn's secret weapon," Sheridan said. "It's kind of ironic, isn't it?"

"I suppose so," Nelonn said. He found himself lowering his gaze and examining the few objects on Sheridan's desk. One was a flatpic, turned away from him; it was probably of his family. One was a crystal reader, and beside it, anachronistically, a pen set. The last object was a twisted piece of black metal. It looked like shrapnel from a destroyed ship. There were no papers; if Sheridan was doing any of his work the old fashioned way, he must have put away anything potentially classified before Nelonn came in.

Nelonn made himself meet Sheridan's eyes. "The plan is for me to deflect the pain telepathically. I will have to be deep-scanning you while I am working on you in order to make that work." Nelonn did not add that Nelonn would have to share the pain to make it work. Or that Nelonn would enjoy it.

He also did not tell him the part that Sheridan would have to believe was real in order to give him the same advantage he had before. The telepathic projection.

Nelonn cleared his throat. "The Ritual itself would be a bad time for me to find out there is something you will not do, or to find out that I cannot get deeply enough into your mind to control your pain response. We need to discuss what you will and will not do in the Ritual. And we need to practice. I need to find the level in your mind. And I need for both of us to develop trust and be comfortable with the work."

"I don't think this is going to be 'comfortable' no matter what you do, Nelonn. But you're right, we should discuss our strategy. As to what I'll do, I won't have much choice if Recnar does it first. Last time I introduced all the really envelope-pushing things. But he must have something up his sleeve or he wouldn't be going for a rematch."

"None of our clan spies have been able to get close to him," Nelonn said. "Clan Serati is small and close-knit, and he's staying in their keep."

"Well, let's see if the Rangers have had any luck." Sheridan took a link out of his desk drawer and spoke into it. "Glad I don't have to wear one of these on the back of my hand anymore. My staff carries the communications gear now."

"Will your bodyguards accompany you to the Ritual?"

"Probably. Yes. Absolutely. The Ritual grounds are going to be a mob scene, it would be easy for an assassin to get close to the front of the crowd."

"Minbari do not have a tradition of assassinating our leaders."

"Who says everyone in the crowd will be Minbari? Granted it'll probably mostly be sportsfans and members of the two clans involved, and their allies, but I don't really make all that many public appearances. I'm expecting celebrity seekers and paparazzi, and people who admire the Alliance, and probably some pilgrims who think I'm the second coming because I came back from Zahadum. An assassin would fit in nicely."

"Well. I suppose you need them, then. But they must stay out of the way, and not interfere with the Ritual. I watched the Highlight Reel. I saw that you had a portable field interrogation station. Please requisition one for this Ritual too."

"Already done," Sheridan said.

The door opened. Delenn sashayed in, smiling mysteriously. Over her silk dress, she wore a white sash. It had pale lavender dots worked into it, just like the ones on Nelonn's black sash. It was the Alternate sash.

"I can't," Nelonn said. "I can't do it. I have no problem torturing anyone else in the universe. Well, anyone willing to have it done, anyway. But I can't do it to Entilza. I am Anla'shok. Or, I will be. In my heart I already am."

Sheridan said, "I'm counting on you to make sure I don't need my Alternate. You do know what you're doing with all this stuff, right?"

"Yes. Brinon taught me."

Delenn said, "And thus we are all here." She turned to her husband. "The Anla'shok have not been able to find out exactly what Recnar is planning. But they have brought me some disturbing reports about Recnar. Not about the Serati; they seem to be the dupes in this play. But Recnar has been bankrolled by someone, and that someone possesses the means to smuggle loritril onto Minbar, or to make it or find it here. It is as you suspected. Recnar has had himself bonded. To his backer. Whoever or whatever that is."

Sheridan sighed. "Well, there goes that advantage. I figured as much, though."

Nelonn said, "So, to beat Recnar, we must have something else that he cannot match."

Sheridan said, "We have you. If you're dulling my pain through the whole thing, surely I'll be able to outlast Recnar."

"If he has become loribonded to his backer, he will be doing what you did during your last match," Nelonn said carefully. The image of Shona Marsu's terrifying green eyes popped into his mind.

"Oh. Right. So, you uh, know about that." Sheridan fidgeted, briefly passing a hand over the black metal thing on his desk.

"The stone of hope," Nelonn said. "Oh. That's what that is. Oh." Irrationally, Nelonn wondered if Firuun knew about that.

"Are you scanning me, Nelonn?"

"Just surface thoughts. But I will have to deep scan you to deflect your pain. If there is anything in there you do not want me to see… well, that's too bad. Sorry, but if I'm going to be… Oh." Nelonn's eyes locked on the wreckage of the Blackstar on Sheridan's desk. He picked it up gingerly and looked at it. "Are you sure this is just metal? There aren't any organic molecules hanging on?"

Sheridan shrugged. "I've never had it tested to find out, why?"

"Just wondering if any bits of the bodies of any of my relatives are mixed in with the plating." Nelonn set it down. "Now let's discuss torture."

Sheridan made a sound that was probably intended to be humor of some kind. But Nelonn read the fear spike as clearly as he saw the charred metal on the desk. It was unmistakable. "I frightened you," Nelonn said. "Good. Learning your responses is one of the things I must do to be a good Handler. The rules of the contest forbid anything fatal or permanent, so the most damaging things that could happen in the Ritual would be emotional. I must find out where your strengths and weaknesses lie, to play to the strengths and conceal the weaknesses."

"Right. Yeah, I'd say keeping away from any references to the Earth / Minbari War would be a good start. But you didn't have to be a telepath to figure that out."

Nelonn shrugged. "Smart people figure things out. Telepaths just know." Nelonn could not resist fiddling with the shrapnel. He extended a finger and dragged the fragment around on the desktop in a little circle. "We should get you used to being Handled by me. And vice versa. Start out with the 'spa treatment' as—" Nelonn was going to say, as Brinon called it, but stopped himself. No sense in squicking everybody out.

Nelonn cleared his throat and began again. "There was a fashion, years ago, for electro massage." He looked up at Entilza sideways. "Do you remember it?"

"I remember," Delenn said. "Go get your things. You will find the field station in the second storage room. The Anla'shok will escort you there. Meet us in our quarters."

Nelonn found himself in the storage room with a lot of boxes and the field station. He got the sucker wire set out. He felt himself grow breathless with excitement as he picked up the set. His, all his. No one would take this set away from him. Entilza gave it to him.

He wanted to strip and use it on himself right there and then, but the house guards were watching. He wrapped it up in a cloth bag and followed the Rangers to Sheridan and Delenn's private suite within the Palace. They were not there yet, probably attending to affairs of state.

The Anla'shok left, and Nelonn unwrapped the set. He should test it. Not put the whole thing on the parallel pressure points up the back, though. He did not know how long he had before they arrived, and he did not want to relax too much and get sleepy.

He could use it on himself later. But not too much. Just once. Just tonight. Firuun was right about one thing: Nelonn should not become so dependent on it that it was too hard to relax and fall asleep without it. He would not allow himself to become dependent this time. Once wouldn't hurt him.

Sheridan and Delenn came in. Nelonn stood to greet them, and exchanged Minbari bows with Entilza. "Once we establish ease of physicality, I will move on to attempt telepathic sensation blocking. It is important that we find out whether I actually can deflect your pain before the Ritual begins."

"Um, yeah."

Delenn said, "I think you should change into your robe and trunks, John."

"Yeah, I guess I'd better." He disappeared into their room.

Delenn's voice changed when she addressed Nelonn. She sounded one hundred percent Minbari now. "You do not know whether you can do this."

"I believe I can," Nelonn said. "Venmer showed me sensation blocking, for use on the injured. But I did not get much practice, since Venmer's typical client is years past whatever initial incident they are asking help recovering from. And they were all Minbari."

Sheridan reappeared in the grey Ritual robe. It was impossible to tell whether this was the new one, delivered by Clan Serati, or the old one from his previous victory. In any case, without his fashionable dark suit with its shiny silver lapel tips, he did not look very Presidential. Now he was just a man.

"Damn," Sheridan said. "I forgot. The first time I didn't have these, um, pocks. I had my face and hands fixed, but I didn't bother with the parts that I thought would never be seen in public."

"It will be alright, John," Delenn assured him. She helped him off with his robe. He had pockmarks like Firuun underneath. He looked like an ordinary man now. Well, an ordinary boxer gearing up for a fight, anyway. The trunks made him look like a prize fighter.

Nelonn briefly imagined an announcer introducing him, 'And in this corner, the undefeated champion, Starkiller.' He was glad he was the only telepath in the room.

"The most suitable place to set up would be the sleeping platform," Nelonn said.

So they got Sheridan settled on the platform in the bedroom. Vulnerable human flesh under his hands. He could hurt it or soothe it. Power. This was power. This was the most powerful man in the galaxy, and he was a being of skin and muscle and nerve, all for Nelonn to work on. It was intoxicating.

Nelonn placed the suction cups along Sheridan's spine. "This will be different from what it felt like before."

As he placed the last pair of suckers, Nelonn pushed down the waistband a bit to get at the lower back, and he felt the most terrible fear spike slam through his mind. The message was loud and clear: 'The trunks stay on.'

'I understand,' Nelonn thought back. He turned the box on to first level power. Then he turned it on.

"Oh," Sheridan said. "Wow, that is different."

Nelonn cranked it up to two, and then three.

"Oh my God that's relaxing. It really is like a massage. You've got to try this, Delenn. It's great."

She replied, "It looks great. I will."

"Can you come over and do this every Tuesday night?"

"You are serious," Nelonn said. "Well, of course, if Entilza so directs."

Nelonn shut off the box. "Now I am going to redistribute them. This will be like before. But I will shunt aside sensation. I will start with the first level and go up. If I do this right, you will feel very little."

Nelonn repositioned the cups and switched the control box over to surface shock. Then he sank into Sheridan's mind. Deeper, deeper, through layers of thought, images, sounds, light, emotion, until he came to the level of pure feeling.

He turned on the machine. Sheridan felt nothing. Nelonn ramped it up. 2. 3. 4. Sheridan shifted a little, starting to feel some mild pain. But Nelonn looked curdled. 5. 6. Nelonn's breathing went ragged. 7. 8. Sheridan said, "Don't pass out, Nelonn."

Nelonn shut it off and swayed. Delenn caught him and steered him to a chair. "You did not block the pain," she said. "You took it into yourself."

"Yes," Nelonn said. "That is how it works."

Sheridan said, "Well, it worked. But I don't know how safe it is for you to work the control box and take the pain yourself. If you faint, what happens then?"

"You are right," Nelonn said. "I will have to be more careful."

"I don't know if this is such a great idea anyway," Sheridan said. "This whole mess started over you, you know. To keep you away from stuff like this."

"I know," Nelonn said. "But you see, this is the ultimate fantasy for someone like me. To be the doer and the done to at the same time. Both halves of the equation." Nelonn pulled the sucker wire off of Sheridan.

"You weren't 'someone like you' before," Sheridan said. "Were you."

"I don't know," Nelonn said. "Was this always who I was, and I was only awakened? Or was I made into what I am? It does not matter. Venmer says I am how I am, however I got that way, and I must accept myself the way I am."

Delenn said, "Venmer is very wise." Then she pulled off the white sash and set it on a bureau. "Now move aside, John, so Nelonn can do me next." She rolled him out of the way to the edge of their double platform. She shed the outer overdress and the kimono-like underdress without hesitation, although Sheridan looked distinctly uncomfortable seeing her undress in front of another.

"Delenn…"

She was wearing a halter-style one-piece underneath, in the pale Challenged color, perfectly matching Sheridan's trunks. "Oh come on, John," Delenn said. "It's a massage. Lighten up." She nestled in next to Sheridan, and seemed to fully relax before she had even been touched, half closing her eyes.

Nelonn flipped the machine back to the deep tissue stimulation setting. He began arranging the suckers in parallel rows down Delenn's spine. He could not believe he was actually working on Entilza. This was bizarre.

"Beginning," Nelonn said. Level 1. Delenn opened her eyes and looked at him. He did not need to read her expression. He could read her mind. She was thinking, 'Is that it?'

Level 2. That was better. Delenn sighed and closed her eyes.

Entilza flesh under his hands. Entilza skin tightening under the stimulus as her muscles bunched and relaxed. Entilza making pretty sounds of relaxation and pleasure under his control.

It was horrifying. It was beautiful. It was unreal. It was the most sexually exciting thing he had done in his life.

'Oh,' Nelonn thought. 'Maybe I like women.'

\

The Ritual of Endurance story continues in Story 14.


	14. Chapter 14

The Windsword Clan

Story 14: the Ritual of Endurance part 2

The Ritual

This was the same Temple where Nelonn had stood his rite of passage. The religious who lived here were not in evidence, as the main room of the temple had been taken over by the judges of the Ritual and the two Ritual parties. Clan Serati representatives stood on one side of the room near their circle, and Clan Imbalo representatives, headed by Dibrienn, stood near their circle.

Recnar's team was already here, having arrived a little while ago to the adulation of the sportsfans lined up outside. The crowd outside was much larger than usual, and included three different human news crews. And a Minbari one. Other Minbari clucked their tongues and talked loudly about 'cultural contamination'. And planned to watch the broadcast later.

The Clan Serati elders stood a little apart from the professionals: Recnar, his Alternate, and his Handler. Recnar and his team had been in many Rituals, and except for his match with Sheridan, he was undefeated. But the Seratis had not Challenged anyone since the time before Valen, and they were nervous.

"Sheridan will not come," said one of the elders.

"Recnar is sure he will," assured the clan chief, an elderly Minbari not far from his time to go to the sea.

"Recnar's 'associate' is sure he will," said one of the others elders, a wizened female. "And he is unsettling."

The first elder said, "Perhaps it would be best if he did not come. After all, he beat Recnar once."

"Recnar says his 'associate' came to him and asked him, What do you want?" said the clan chief. "And Recnar said, To win a rematch with Sheridan. We have seen that he can deliver on his promises. Recnar has the same advantage Sheridan has now."

"Are we so certain what that was?" asked the female. "It seems an unlikely story. And if it's true that Sheridan is loribonded to Delenn's aide, where is he? He disappeared under suspicious circumstances. The Anla'shok claim he deserted. They even got up a story about a sighting and near capture on Untika."

"That story is true," said the clan chief. "Recnar's 'associate' was there."

"Doing what, I wonder?" asked the female. "Up to no good, I would think. Why are we involved in all this, anyway? What do we want?"

"To show everyone that you can't attack a member of Clan Serati and get away with it, of course," said the clan chief. "We are a small clan with few alliances, and none very powerful. But the Ritual of Endurance levels the playing field. It does not matter how much personal power Sheridan has as the President of the Interstellar Alliance. When he steps into that circle he is just a human. And Minbari are stronger. Better. The Ritual has come down to us out of the ancient days. We will prevail."

"Recnar and his 'associate' have turned your head," she said.

"Careful. I am still Lord Serati."

"I apologize." She bowed slightly, eyes downcast in deference.

"Look," said a younger member of the group of representatives, who had been silent until now. "The Presidential motorcade is arriving."

The motorcade consisted of four groundcars and a cargo transport.

The four cars were identical. Each of them was black, and larger than a standard groundcar, and maneuvered in a ponderous fashion due to the momentum and mass of armor that protected the occupants from antipersonnel weapons and small field artillery up to the level of a shoulder fired rocket. Each groundcar had a pair of IA flags flapping from small staffs affixed to the front bumpers.

Sheridan's personal bodyguards got out first, but only looked around in a perfunctory fashion. The onlookers interpreted that, correctly, to mean that the real security forces were already in place before Sheridan arrived.

The next person out of the groundcars was Nelonn, wearing the Handler's sash. The first Serati elder recognized him. "Isn't that the boy that started all this?"

The female Serati hushed him, as another person emerged, wearing the grey robe of the Former Enemy. "Sheridan," she confirmed. "So, you were right. So far."

Then a third person climbed out, wearing the white sash. The crowd gasped and fell utterly silent. Except for the news crews, busily narrating, "And it looks like, yes, it's confirmed, that's Delenn. What a statement of social power from the Windswords."

A porter from the cargo truck offloaded a portable field interrogation station. Since Sheridan had brought one to the other ritual, no one was surprised this time. The crowd murmured in appreciation of the fine spectacle to come.

Nelonn was surprised by the cameras. Until now, it had been forbidden to record the Ritual of Endurance. That did not stop anyone, of course, but all previous recordings had been bootleg.

The mental pressure of the crowd was like a multiplier of the crowd noise. It pushed against his shields like tons of water pressing against aquarium glass.

The need to reinforce his shields against the crowd was going to make it much harder to get into Sheridan's mind the way he needed to. He was glad he had practiced.

As Nelonn, Sheridan, and Delenn stepped in the Challenged circle, Nelonn reached out with his mind and latched onto Sheridan. He could feel Sheridan's nervousness, a very different flavor from his own. Sheridan was mostly concerned about the possibility of a Minbari civil war if he failed. While Nelonn was mostly worried about pulling off all the telepathic feats required of him in the middle of an excited crowd.

Nelonn established the link to Sheridan's pain centers. It was a familiar operation now, and he locked on easily despite the presence of so many other minds.

Recnar yelled macho slogans and beat his chest like an Earth gorilla. The crowd noise swelled with cheers and with jeers. Each competitor has his following.

Then another figure walked into the temple. A figure in a brown hooded cloak, three points sticking up from the hood. Clearly, there was a member of the religious caste under there. The religious caste had played aesthetic games with their bone crests, some clans developing a tall three-spiked crown like Clan Chudomo's, and some developing a triangular pattern of ridges on the back of the headbone, like Clan Mir's.

His footsteps were silent in the roar of the crowd. He walked directly into Sheridan's circle and pulled his hood slightly apart, to show Sheridan, and only Sheridan, his face. It was Lennier.

Sheridan gasped. "You—"

"Sh," Lennier urged. "No one else must know I'm here."

Delenn did not react to Lennier's presence at all. Even if she did not see his face, surely she must wonder who this new addition to the circle was, Sheridan thought.

Sheridan felt a pressure in his mind on that thought, and his curiosity melted away like pain. Nelonn? But then that curiosity left him too. He could not follow up the thought.

Lennier said the dreaded word. "Starkiller. Do not concede. And do not call attention to my presence here."

The compulsion came over Sheridan. Nelonn felt it go through Sheridan's mind, and he shuddered. This was what Shona Marsu would have done to him, if Carla had not killed her. She would have controlled him with his Phrase, making him do anything she wanted. He was glad she was dead.

Now Nelonn was acting as loribond controller to Sheridan. Sort of. He did not hold him bonded, but he was making this happen. He wondered if this were a technical violation of the law or not. If it was, and anyone found out, Entilza Delenn would have to arrange a pardon from the Grey Council or it would mean life in prison. Of course, it would be easy for her to arrange a pardon. He did not fear that. But if he had had hair, it would have been standing on end in revulsion for what he was doing.

The contest began. As the Challenger, Recnar went first. His Handler used a variety of instruments on him. Floggers, of leather, of rubber, and of a substance that glittered like metal but abraded rather than cut. Flexible canes, some clear, some opaque, one of natural reed –

Nelonn was oddly reminded of Sech Turval, whom he had never met.

The beating went on until Recnar's back was as red as his trunks. Then it was Sheridan's turn. The judges handed Nelonn the first instrument, and relayed their notes on exactly how many strikes to make with it. They did not try to tell him how hard to hit, but they did not need to; Nelonn had been watching, after all.

The first stroke. Through the link to Sheridan's mind, Nelonn felt his stroke as if it landed on his own back, and he inhaled sharply.

Sheridan did not react at all. But no one noticed any difference from his usual behavior during the previous contest, since Sheridan had borne his strokes stoically in his first match against Recnar.

This was going to work. Nelonn's second stroke hit, and Nelonn managed not to react. Third, fourth, fifth. He was getting into the rhythm of it now. The judges counted off the blows for him, and gave him the next instrument.

The flesh in front of him was starting to glow a little pink, and Nelonn was starting to sail. His mind expanded and floated around the room.

Then he felt a different kind of pain, an unpleasurable pain, coming to him through the link, and realized that when he became distracted by his own pleasure, Sheridan started to feel the strikes a little. Nelonn focused, and brought his mind back to what he was doing.

When he started on the next instrument, he felt Sheridan relax a bit, safely back in the painless bubble of Nelonn's mental protection.

Nelonn went through all the prescribed instruments. He was the doer and the done-to, the top and the bottom, giver and receiver of pain, and the heady mix made his mind soar like a hunting bird, fueling his naturally powerful telepathy to new heights of strength.

Then the matching of Recnar's initial volley was over. It was time to reposte. Nelonn brought a syringe out of the field station. He showed it to the judges.

"What is in it?" asked the chief judge.

"Cocktail."

"The five drug cocktail?"

"The six drug cocktail."

"Ennumerate the contents for the record."

Nelonn recited the six words guaranteed to make anyone old enough to remember the Earth-Minbari war cringe. "Tuhesen, Amsha, Druun, Ethlec, Datansho, Bermac, Loritril."

Nelonn pointed to a line of the syringe to indicate the dose, and the judges duly recorded it. Sheridan held out his arm for Nelonn, and Nelonn injected the Minbari Torture Cocktail into the large vein at inner bend.

Then Nelonn opened a drawer in the portable field interrogation station and took out his favorite toy. Sucker wire.

Sheridan lay down flat on the platform, face up. Nelonn took his time arranging the suction cups just so. It was too bad that some of the best bundles of nerve endings were covered up by the boxer shorts. But there were plenty of other sensitive places. Nelonn was careful to avoid the nerve bundle that humans have on their flanks, where Recnar would be relatively insensitive.

And he was careful to include the area at the top of the shoulder where a human was not vulnerable at all, but which would be like the human 'funny bone' to Recnar. That was the real reason Minbari war armor had exaggerated shoulder pauldrons, to protect the shoulder bone from a blow from a denn'bok or similar weapon. That the large shoulder armor pieces also made Minbari look like they had imposingly huge upper body muscles was just a coincidental plus.

Nelonn checked to be sure the control box was set on surface shock. Then he started with level 1. The mild shocks did not even register as pain to Sheridan's body, after the practice he and Nelonn had done, and Nelonn ramped up to level 2. Then 3. Then 4. Finally Nelonn was feeling some exciting pain from Sheridan's nerve impulses. 5. This was as far as Lennier had taken Sheridan during the first match against Recnar, what seemed like ages ago. 6. Nelonn's breathing went ragged, and he fought not to react. 7. Agony. Exquisite agony.

Through all this, Sheridan himself felt very little. But Nelonn could not continue to take all the pain when he increased it to level 8. Some of it leaked through. Sheridan grimaced and took it. 9. Nelonn fought not to scream, not to cry. Sheridan's fists balled up and his whole body went rigid. 10. Nelonn felt faint, and had to let Sheridan take more of the pain. Sheridan held his breath, remembered nearly passing out trying to do that during the last contest, and made himself allow a groan to escape him.

Nelonn shut off the box, swaying on his feet. He had got through it. And no one had noticed. Or at least, none of the judges, Recnar's party, or the Serati had noticed, and if anyone else realized what he was doing, they were keeping quiet.

Then Recnar took the drugs, and the sucker wire. He started his showmanship screaming at level 3, and by the time he got to level 8 it was the real thing. Recnar's genuine scream was not the throaty masculine roar of his crowd-pleasing yells, but shrill and jangling like a note that breaks glass.

Recnar looked like he was going to pass out, briefly, when he got to level 10. But the Amsha kicked in, and he revived. When it was over, he lay panting for a long time, recovering. His Handler cranked his platform up to a 45 degree angle, to help Recnar's breathing, and it evened out.

Finally, Recnar spoke. But it was not the easy stage voice he had had before. The screaming had roughened it. The bravado was the same as always, though.

Recnar shouted, "I know your weakness, Sheridan! I know what the Starkiller fears!"

His Handler removed his red trunks, bent him over the table, and picked up the large, round-ended steel bar from the displayed instruments. He lubed it up.

"He can't do that!" Sheridan exclaimed. "The rules say we're supposed to wear trunks. He can't take them off."

The judges conferred.

Sheridan's entourage conferred too. "This would be a great time to be assassinated," Sheridan said. Then he looked over at Delenn, wearing the white sash. "Oh. Except. Right."

Delenn shrugged. "Actually, it looks like fun to me. If you could figure out some way to become incapacitated—"

"No," Sheridan said. "Absolutely not."

Nelonn asked, "What is less acceptable? To have it done to you or to have it done to your wife?"

Sheridan shook his head. It was an impossible choice.

Delenn put a hand on Sheridan's arm. "But I have no problem with it."

"I do. End of discussion."

Nelonn said, "How did he know? There is no telepath on the opposing team. I would have noticed if anyone tried to scan you."

"Good question," Sheridan said.

Delenn said, "Perhaps his mysterious backer employed a spy of some kind."

"To find out something known only to the telepath here, and two dead Centauri pirates? Who would they tell?"

"Their own backers?" Delenn asked.

"You're saying the Drakh are behind this?" Sheridan asked. "Actually, that makes sense. Stirring up trouble. Trying to cause wars. That's the way of the Shadows."

Sheridan was too agitated to notice that Lennier did not seem to have anything to say.

The chief judge said, "He is right, the rules designate what each competitor will wear."

Sheridan let out a sigh of relief.

Smirking, Recnar's Handler had Recnar step back into his boxer shorts and pulled them up to his knees. "Now he is still wearing them."

The judges conferred again. The chief judge said, "The rules do not specify the manner of wear. It is allowable."

"Damn!" Sheridan exclaimed. "Now what?"

"If you truly cannot do this," Nelonn said aloud, and then switched to telepathy, 'I will have your controller release you from the command, so that you can concede.'

"I can't concede," Sheridan responded. "Not if the Drakh are involved. They set this up to try to start a civil war."

Recnar's Handler re-lubed the bar and inserted it into Recnar. Recnar cried out when he was penetrated, probably demonstrating more pain than he actually felt, as usual.

Sheridan turned white and broke out in a cold sweat.

Recnar's Handler pounded Recnar hard and fast, and Recnar kept yelling.

"He is probably not feeling that much pain," Nelonn said, "even with the enthec. He probably has prepared himself for this for months by having himself stretched to take that size of insertable."

"I haven't," Sheridan growled.

"There is something we could do. Switch bodies. I'm you, and you're me."

"Can you do that?"

"I've never done it," Nelonn said, "but other telepaths have done it in history. I've seen documentaries about it."

"Great. That's really reassuring."

"It is your choice, Sheridan. Try swapping places with me, or take it, or concede."

"Or," Delenn said, "have Nelonn do something to your mind to make you fall unconscious, and let me. I would enjoy it."

"No," Sheridan said.

He watched the judges carefully noting down the pace and number of thrusts. He couldn't do this. But he couldn't give up, either.

"If you're me, and I'm you," Sheridan grated, "then I'd be looking out of your eyes doing this to my own body."

"There is another thing we could try," Nelonn said. "Turn you off completely. I will be in both places at once."

"Ever done that?"

"No. Nor has any other telepath, that I know of. But it may actually be easier than trading, now that I think of it. Trading would mean maintaining your awareness outside of your body. This would simply be blocking your awareness of your own senses. If you close your eyes, I will not have the odd dislocation of double vision."

And, Nelonn thought, if you close your eyes I won't have to try to do this AND block your pain AND maintain the illusion.

"Will I be unconscious, then?"

"Not exactly. While you are on Amsha you cannot truly fall unconscious. But I can keep you from being aware of your physical sensations in the same way I am dampening your pain. You will be awake, but not aware."

"Alright. That sounds like our best shot."

Sheridan looked over at Delenn. She looked concerned, but hopeful. She did not know how terrifying this idea was for Sheridan. No one but telepaths had ever known how much he feared this. Nelonn, and Inoja. Although Lennier had seemed to know that it was something Sheridan especially feared, somehow. Perhaps he feared it too.

Sheridan looked at Lennier, standing quietly next to Delenn and never letting on that it was him. It must be tearing him apart. But Lennier's face looked blank. He was not even blinking. Hell, he wasn't breathing.

Sheridan shook his head slightly. 'I'm imagining things because of the loritril. Dream state illusions.' But it was not his own thought, and he knew it on some level. It came to him in Nelonn's voice. 'See, Lennier is breathing.' And he was, now. Now that Nelonn was paying attention to Lennier. But Nelonn pressed on Sheridan's mind, and the curiosity went away.

A succession of thoughts; Sheridan was not if they were his own or Nelonn's:

I'm doing this for the Alliance.

To prevent a Minbari civil war.

There is more to the Alliance than Minbar.

It is a good thing Desnara is not part of the Alliance. This would depose him, in their eyes.

This wasn't exactly going to play well on Earth, either.

The last echo of Recnar's roaring fell silent in the sunny temple. The judges brought over the equipment, and Nelonn carefully cleaned and disinfected it.

'Good night, Sheridan.' Nelonn's voice was the last thing he was aware of. Except the blankness. Awake, but not aware. It was like being in an empty room. An empty viewing room on a Whitestar, with all the holo equipment and spotlights turned off. Nothing but darkness.

Nelonn expanded into Sheridan's outer senses, filling his body to the skin. He maneuvered Sheridan into position awkwardly, not used to moving another's arms and legs with his mind. Then he closed Sheridan's eyes.

And let go of the illusion of Lennier.

Nelonn sighed in relief. He would have to bring the illusion back later, to issue the counterphrase. But for now, he could concentrate on keeping Sheridan's body making appropriate responses, so it would not appear that he had become unconscious.

Even without experiencing this, even without remembering this, this was still going to be a terribly traumatic experience for the mind walled away from awareness inside Sheridan's body right now. Nelonn had spent his first apprenticeship learning to help people with that kind of thing. And his second learning to cause it. And he had run away from his second. He didn't want to do this either.

He briefly imagined rescue arriving at the last moment in the form of the young quartermaster's mate who was the excuse for Recnar's challenge. She would stand forth and say, "Not for me! I Admire Sheridan the Blessed. Do not hurt him for me."

But, perhaps imagining the same thing, the Seratis had wisely not invited her. She was not here.

Nelonn pulled down the pale trunks. He was about to become a person who could take someone who did not want to be taken. He was about to become Brinon.

This whole thing started because Firuun wanted to save him, and future victims, from Brinon. And instead he was going to become him.

Nelonn started to cry.

But the tears came out of Sheridan's eyes.

"Stop," said Delenn. "He is crying. John doesn't cry."

Nelonn paused a moment to get control of his voice. "Entilza. This was his choice. You know what is at stake."

"I know," Delenn whispered. "I know. Go on."

Nelonn lubed up the giant object, exactly as much as it had been lubricated for Recnar, under the judges' instruction. It was not that much. 'Just enough to do the job, not enough to make it comfortable'. Nelonn heard that thought come to him, and realized Recnar was thinking it, loudly, across the room in the Challenger's circle. Nelonn did not have to look up to see the smirk.

Nelonn lined up the dildo at Sheridan's entrance. And pushed. Tried again. Pushed hard. Carefully lined it up again, working the tip a little into the tight, virginal hole. Held his breath, and felt both bodies tense. Then made himself let it out and relax, running through a meditation Venmer had taught him, and relaxed Sheridan as much as he could. Rammed it.

And it wouldn't go in.

Nelonn wanted to laugh. He choked that back. When he was sure he could speak, and not laugh, and only have the words come out of his own mouth, he said, "It will not go in. It is too big. Recnar outsmarted himself."

The judges conferred. They began debating precedent on the subject of what happens when a device fails on the second use.

Finally the chief judge said, "According to the precedent of the Ritual, in the four historical cases in which a device failed on the second use, the Ritual was declared a draw. And thus we so rule. The Ritual has no winner and no loser. The Winner's sash will be cut to ribbons. Each competitor will receive half, and the ribbons may be worn bundled on the right shoulder of the Robe. So we have rule. The Ritual is done."

Nelonn pulled his mind away from Sheridan, and let Sheridan's consciousness come back to him.

Sheridan stood up slowly, blinking in confusion. 'I don't hurt inside,' Nelonn heard him say in his mind. 'What happened?'

'Nothing. A draw. There will be a negotiated settlement, hopefully.'

'Where's Lennier?'

'Oh, hell.' Nelonn panicked, just for a moment. He had forgotten to turn the illusion back on. He couldn't let Sheridan hear him think that! 'I'll find him,' Nelonn told him. 'He must have gone looking for the facilities.'

"Hey, where'd the manta ray come from?" Sheridan said out loud. "Oh. Of course. Dream state illusions. Never mind."


	15. Chapter 15

The Windsword Clan

Story 15

"You know what they're calling you on Sportswire?" Garibaldi asked. He had a grin he was obviously trying to suppress. He looked like he was trying really hard to be sympathetic and was about to bust out laughing as soon as the stellarcom call was over.

"What?" Sheridan asked. He was lounging in an imported Earth easy chair, facing the screen.

"The Impenetrable Sheridan."

Sheridan blinked a couple of times. "Huh."

"I thought you'd have more of a reaction than that."

"Well… that explains why that doesn't hurt too. Michael, I don't remember a thing. I had a Minbari telepath block the whole thing out of my mind."

"Oh." Garibaldi sobered. "Jeez, John. I mean, nothing happened, so…"

Sheridan shook his head. He thought about trying to explain about Nelonn separating his mind from his body for a few minutes, but Garibaldi was already suspicious of enough people and events. He would not take to the idea that someone could literally take over Sheridan's body telepathically. Sheridan didn't really like the idea either, now that he thought of it.

But Nelonn was exactly what he had hoped Lennier would be, when he chose to bond to Lennier: someone he could trust because he was utterly loyal to Delenn. Nelonn would be just starting his first day of Ranger training now.

And where had Lennier gone after the Ritual? He had reappeared just for a few minutes, in the restroom. Well, that was one of the few private places in the Minbari temple complex. He was just there long enough to say 'loridano' and then he left. What was he up to? And why had he appeared to not be breathing a couple of times during the Ritual?

"What is it, John?" Garibaldi asked.

"Hmm? Oh. Just wondering if there are Minbari vampires."

"What?"

"Vampires. The living dead. Beings that don't breathe."

"Whatever you're on…"

"Loritril, among other things," Sheridan said. "Including pain enhancers that won't wear off for days. Everything hurts. Even places where I wasn't hit. I feel old. My hips. My spine. Everything."

"Hate to say it, buddy, but you kind of brought that on yourself, you know."

"If anybody ever challenges me, I'm sending you. You count, you know."

"That was not my fault."

"Doesn't matter." At Garibaldi's hurt look, Sheridan amended, "Not to the Minbari, anyway."

There was a silence.

"Better sign off," Sheridan said. "Stellarcom calls eat up my budget."

"Yeah. Talk to ya later."

Sheridan let the screen go dark instead of bringing up an entertainment or news channel. A screen. It was an anachronism in a Minbari building, where holo had been the norm for centuries. But Sheridan had had an Earth style screen put in his quarters so he could receive ISN and other Earth broadcasts.

He turned in his seat, trying to find a comfortable way to sit. There really was not one.

Delenn came in. "Not even comfortable in your lazy chair?"

Sheridan sighed. He didn't bother trying to correct the human phrase. "So what were you and your lady friends talking about in there with all that giggling going on?"

"I was telling them about Nelonn's unique massage technique. They all want to try it."

"That's a really evil smile, Delenn. What are you planning?"

"What a perfect disguise for information gathering. Massage therapist. I didn't tell them he is Anla'shok. And a Windsword."

"You're going to spy on your friends?"

"Not just them. Their friends, and their friends. It will become quite a network, don't you think?"

"Delenn…"

"This is exactly the kind of thing the Rangers should be doing. Spying on the upper classes. Those who have power, and wealth. And secret vices."

"I always pictured Nelonn as the Pike-fighting kind of Ranger."

Delenn made an open-handed gesture. "If he ever needs to defend himself, he will be quite capable, I'm sure. But the best intelligence operations are those that no one ever suspects are there."


	16. Chapter 16

The Windsword Clan

Story 16

"He knows you're here," said the Centauri telepath. "He saw you at the Ritual."

The short, slight figure in the weathered cloak said calmly, "I was not at the Ritual. You were."

"I know. But somehow he must have sensed your presence on Minbar."

"No. It is not possible. Sheridan is not telepathic in any way. Humans of his era were tested for telepathy prior to joining Earth Force, and if they were positive they were not allowed to join. They made them join Psi Corp instead."

"As you say," said the Centauri. "But he knows you're here. This is counter to your plans, yes?"

"Yes. Things are becoming so complicated. But I must undo the damage the Serati are causing. This is my fault. I directed the attention of the Drakh to Minbar."

The Centauri shook his head, and his crest of hair wobbled. "If you're about to launch into your 'if you ever meet a man who asks you, What do you want? Don't tell him' lecture, please don't."

Lennier turned away and looked out over the city. They were on a rooftop, which was slanted at a pyramidal angle and carved of slick white crystal. But they were not about to slide off, because of the deep walking ridge all the way around the edge of the rooftop. The ridge collected feathers and debris in the wind.

"It all looks so peaceful from up here."

"Would you like some advice?" asked the Centauri.

"Only if it's about how to prevent the next Minbari civil war. I have had more than enough of your opinions concerning females. I do not want to 'just get over her'."

"Ah, well. There you are." The Centauri leaned his elbows on the lip of the ridge. "Actually, I do have a thought on how to stop the Drakh. Or at least how to stop Clan Serati. If you were Centauri you would have thought of it already. When I was observing the Ritual, I witnessed an argument between Lord Serati and his rival, a female. Nothing special in that; apparently it was an ongoing issue. She does not hold with his plans, nor his alliance with the Drakh. Even though she does not know it is the Drakh that are behind him. It occurs to me that the removal of Lord Serati would likely place her in power, or at least those she can influence."

"And how do you propose to accomplish this removal?" Lennier asked suspiciously.

"Leave that to me."

"I will not countenance assassination."

"My dear ex-Ranger. What strange morals you still cling to. Do not let it concern you. I will simply arrange for Lord Serati to be recorded on holo conspiring with his Drakh ally. His own clansmen will do the rest."

"See it done, then."


	17. Chapter 17

The Windsword Clan

Story 17: Nelonn at Tuzanor

Nelonn's sense of déjà vu, which had plagued him from the moment he arrived in Tuzanor to begin his Anla'shok training, did not diminish when he closed his eyes in the Meditation class. If anything, it increased.

Everyone and everything was familiar. But at the slightly wrong angle. Carla was shorter than he was. Well, the students were not the same, of course. And there were a few new additions to the staff. But the major figures among the Sechs were the same.

The buildings were the same. The city of Tuzanor itself, known as the City of Sorrows, was actually a hopeful and beautiful place. The Anla'shok base and training center was less than perfectly aesthetic, but then, what could one do with an airfield? The Temple of Valen, with its stained glass windows, reminded Nelonn strongly of Earth churches.

And then there was – Whack!

Nelonn nearly jumped out of his skin. His eyes flew open, he gasped, and he was halfway off the floor and into a fighting stance before he realized what had struck him, and he sank back down again, chagrined.

It was Sech Turval's reed cane. Striking across his upper back.

Well, Nelonn had not been paying attention, or meditating. He had been drifting, and thinking. Sech Turval and his reed cane was another thing familiar from Carla's memories. It had felt very different in his own body, though.

In fact, if he had not been so startled – Whack!

It happened again! Well, he had still not been meditating. And this time, he was not quite so startled, and he was right. He liked it. He wasn't supposed to, and he clearly remembered how difficult it had been for Carla to deal with it. But feeling wicked about it did not take away from the pleasure.

Whack! Nelonn closed his eyes and tried to look like he was meditating. But he did not try very hard. He wondered how many times he could get Sech Turval to do that before he figured out Nelonn liked it. Nelonn held his breath for a moment, anticipating another blow. But none came.

Well, that was just as well. Physical pleasure aside, he did not want Sech Turval for a play partner. He was even older and more shrively than Brinon. Yuck.

Whack!

OK, Nelonn thought—in English; Carla's memories did that to him sometimes—OK, that was enough. Time to actually try to meditate.

When he set his mind to it, he found it was easy. After all, Venmer had taught him to meditate, and Nelonn had earnestly tried to learn everything Venmer had to teach him, to keep from walking in other peoples' nightmares anymore.

Nelonn was not struck again, at least not in meditation class. The next class was denn'bok fighting. Oh, were the other new recruits in the beginners' class going to have a surprise.


	18. Chapter 18

The Windsword Clan

Story 18: Digatoga

Author's Note:

Corporal Joy Digatoga was invented for the purpose of having a backstory exactly like Carla's but looking like me, because in the course of writing this series, Carla's backstory as a prisoner of war on Tifar transmuted for me exactly the same way it transmuted for Carla. When Carla fell in love with Firuun, her past trauma turned into sparkly new adventure. Her old issues turned from fear into fun. And this series became frankly erotic, which I had never intended. When I started out with the first story, The Loribond, I intended to write a drama, with a little humor and a little sexiness, kind of the same mix as the show. But I siphoned my personal issues (which are, if you haven't guessed yet, rape, torture, and mental illness) into Carla and she transformed them for me from traumatic to exciting. When Carla died, all her feelings wound up back in the original source, the author.

And I generated the Minbari Warrior Fantasy, a fantasy about making a science fiction fan film. And I set out to actually do it. Starring myself and local members of the BDSM community. There was just one problem. When I created Carla, I made her someone I could identify with in the current stage of my life. In these stories, Carla is in her forties. Twenty years ago, during the Earth-Minbari War, she was a twentyish blonde Marine sergeant, and probably had a great body. The Carla of that time period didn't look like me! And so, voila! Corporal Joy Digatoga.

Digatoga is the Cherokee word for tail. It is pronounced with the stress on the second syllable.

(If you are reading this story on and would like to read my blog about making this movie, PM me and I'll send you the link.)

End of author's note.

Nelonn had his rig set up in the spacious home of one of his clients, a wealthy but not socially powerful lady of the worker caste. Most of his clients were religious, since they were friends of friends of Entilza Delenn. This female was a bit 'downmarket' for his mission, since he was trying to spy on people with power. But she was also his first inroad into the worker caste, so allowed her into his very exclusive list of clientele.

There was more color in a worker caste home than in either the religious or warrior castes. It was a vast, mostly white room with a high ceiling and lots of sunlight, but there were cylindrical red pillows on the white couches, and a touch of sea green and turquoise here and there.

Nelonn's rig consisted of a massage table, covered with an interchangeable cloth, and his sucker wire kit. He wore a simple tan tunic, decorated with gold edging ribbon. It was not quite religious caste colors, but it came close. He was usually assumed to be worker caste who served mostly religious customers.

If his great height and very spiky headbone betrayed his Windsword origins, his sensitive ways and ready tears belied the obvious. Most of his clients were women, and when he had a male customer it was universally as part of a couple, dragged along by the wife.

Viri came downstairs in her underdress, having left the sleeveless over robe upstairs. She scratched at her bone tiara, where Minbari did not actually have any nerve endings to itch.

"You seem nervous today," Nelonn said, in his best, soft-voiced, Venmer-approved therapy style. "What is it?"

"I have a houseguest. A human. Would you mind if she watches?"

"Not at all."

She went back up and came down with a fiftyish woman with dark hair and a deep bronze tan. The human was dressed in a nondescript lounger of the style humans called muumuu. She walked in it awkwardly, as if more used to business wear. She wore spectacles.

The human was screaming inside. Nelonn reinforced his mental shields against it, but it beat on his mind like a drum. He caught a glimpse of the snows of Tifar. Carla, he thought. Then: she's a loribond victim.

"Joy, this is Nelonn."

"Hello," said Joy. She did not make an attempt to shake hands. Either she had been on Minbar a long time, or was too afraid to. "Viri told me all about you. Do you really use sucker wire for massage?"

"Yes. I am aware of what it means to—to humans." Nelonn caught himself before referring to any information he had gleaned telepathically. He was supposed to be undercover, and besides that humans could be funny about telepaths. "It is true that if used improperly, electro massage could cause pain."

Viri hung around the massage table, looking expectant.

Nelonn turned to her. "Let's begin."

Viri immediately shed her dress and hopped up on the table. She was a longstanding repeat customer, and had no inhibitions left. Nelonn had been hoping she would introduce him to more customers, but he had been expecting rich worker castes, not this human tangle.

Nelonn began placing the suction cups in parallel rows at either side of the spine. "You are tense today," Nelonn remarked.

"Yes, I'm very ready to relax. You can't imagine the kinds of things Joy started telling me when I explained my massage routine."

"Actually, I can," Nelonn said. He finished the placement and started up the routine at its lowest level. "Beginning now."

Viri sighed as her muscles bunched and relaxed.

Nelonn addressed Joy. "I know more than you think. I knew the late Captain Punch." This was getting dangerously close to his real identity, but right then he did not care. He had to help Joy. "I was trained in providing the psychological aspects of therapy by the family counselor, Venmer. I know you are afraid, and you do not want to be. I can help you. Perhaps I was born into this life just so that I can help you."

"Wow," said Joy. "Viri said you were sensitive and insightful. But wow." She moved a little closer, looking at the suction cups on Viri's back, and the wires running to the control box. All the dials and switches. And the blissful expression on Viri's face.

Quietly, Joy said, "I followed Captain Punch's career in the news. I knew all of them, peripherally. Carla, and Ike, and all those guys. I only ever met with the group in person a couple of times, because I moved home after I got out. But I participated in the virtual meetings over stellarcom. Home was Proxima 3. With my parents."

"By the group you mean the FPFP?" Nelonn probed.

"Yeah, them too, eventually."

Finally Nelonn had the opening to pretend to 'conclude' what he already knew, the way that Khunnier would have logicked it out. "The Loribond Survivors' Support Group, then. You are a loribond victim."

"Yes."

Viri opened her eyes, moved face and stared at her friend. Apparently she had not already known that.

"And you are trying to overcome your fears, the way the—" could he mention the Rangers' ritual of terror? Oh, of course, he had already said he knew Capt. Punch – "Anla'shok do, by confronting them. So Captain Punch told me."

"Yes."

"If you would like to try it, I would be honored to help you."

"Yes. I would. But I'm…"

"Scared," Nelonn finished. "I completely understand. But you won't be, by the time we're done. It may take several sessions. And if you would like to start by handling the controls and placing cups yourself, that would be fine too. Desensitization to a phobia can take several intermediary steps."

"Oh. I guess you really are a therapist," Joy said. "The way Viri described you, and this, I guess I was kind of expecting a male escort."

Nelonn blushed. "I prefer males, myself," he whispered, looking at her shyly through his faint eyelashes. He managed to make it look like he was looking up at her, although he was much taller.

"I knew it," Viri chortled.

"I don't know about trying to be in control of it myself," Joy said. "I'd be afraid I wouldn't know what I'm doing, and might hurt myself."

"I would let you do it to me," Nelonn said. "As a first session. We could move on to giving you the massage at our second session. Just to get you over your fear of the equipment itself, so that we can move on to the actual massage after that."

"Really? What if I mess up?"

"When I was learning to perform this kind of massage, I often had it used on me in the wrong way. I am used to it."

"Oh. Other students mess up all the time, huh? That makes sense."

He could not confirm her conclusion without telling a lie, but he was skilled at misdirection. Nelonn picked up the control box. "This is the level adjuster. Here, see this? I am going to turn it from 1 to 2."

Viri moaned in pleasure and turned her face back to the face hole in the massage table, and took no more part of the conversation. From there on out she concentrated on her own sensations.

Joy said quietly, "I can't believe I'm really here. Really seeing this. Really going to do this. I came to Minbar for a job. I actually didn't want to come, and then the job… well, I flipped out and got fired. They sent me because I speak Minbari. And now I'm stranded here. I don't know what I'd do if Viri hadn't taken me in. I met her as a customer for my company."

"Not an Earth corporation, I take it," Nelonn said.

"It was an Earth corporation, why?"

"Carla couldn't get a job before she became a Ranger. Because of being labeled mentally ill in the process of being excused for killing her comrades under a loribond command."

"That didn't happen to me, thank all the gods there are. I was bonded, and given a mission, but the Day never came for me. All those who had been in the first wave, like Carla and Ike, carried out their commands on the same day. Those of us from later in the war, the Day we had been given actually happened after the war was over. And by then the other loribond victims had been identified, retried and released to civilian mental hospitals. The Loribond War Crimes Commission was all over ISN. That's when I first looked up Ike, after I saw him on the news."

Joy unconsciously drew closer, finding a surprisingly sympathetic listener in Nelonn.

"Military intelligence came for the second wave survivors, rounded us up and medically discharged us to civilian mental hospitals, before any crime was committed. We were all held in various hospitals until, all on the same day, we were suddenly all able to talk about the Day. Because it was suddenly yesterday. So then they let us all go. I wanted to go to the support group, but my parents met me at the gate and took me home, and I was too confused and traumatized to put up a fight. It took me a long time to be able to do anything for myself, even brush my hair, after the mental hospital."

"Carla said the mental hospital was worse than Tifar in some ways. There was less freedom. No work parties to go plant trees in the peaceful city, no moving around the camp, no access to the outdoors at all. And everyone was the enemy. There was no one on her side."

"Yes. That's it exactly," Joy said.

"Carla was grateful for the chance to be military again, when she became Anla'shok."

Joy shook her head. "That part of my life is well over. I had toyed with the idea of joining Earth Force when I was young, but they didn't take the visually impaired. I've worn glasses since I was a kid. But, towards the end of the war, the Marines were taking anything. Flat feet, glasses, asthma, being older than dirt, those weren't obstacles anymore. Too many losses to be picky."

"Two hundred and fifty million," Nelonn said quietly.

"Of humans, yes, but most of those were civilian deaths. Still, the Gropos were constantly short strength. I wouldn't want my military career back if they gave it to me with roses. It was a meat grinder. It was horrible. I was 39 when I enlisted, and I was a corporal two weeks out of basic training. Just because I was still alive."

All those deaths she had witnessed swept over her, and the intense sadness stabbed at Nelonn's heart. He wept.

"Oh," Joy said. That was not the reaction she was used to from Minbari when she mentioned the war. Most of them, worker castes who really had nothing to do with it but building energy rifles and bombs, simply looked uncomfortable and changed the subject. The few military castes she had spoken with usually responded with a venomous variation on 'just carrying out orders' or pointed out that the Minbari had not started the war.

Nelonn wiped the tears on his sleeve.

When he had control of his voice again, he spoke softly to Viri and ramped up to level 3. Joy's healing had begun.


	19. Chapter 19

The Windsword Clan

Story 19

This was only the second time Nelonn had actually gotten to wear his Anla'shok uniform. The first time was when he graduated from training and took his oath to Entilza.

He was standing in the large room at the clan fortress, in a sea of black, with a couple of Windswords in civilian dress scattered in. Only here, in secret, in the heart of the most secure part of the clan fortress, could he walk openly as a Ranger.

That was a little sad, but it was more of a point of pride. For he was a secret Ranger, an Anla'shok spy of the old fashioned kind, dealing in rumor and person based intelligence. What Carla's people called HUMINT.

Normally this kind of display only happened for important clan rituals, but today it was done simply to honor the clan chief. Today, Firuun came home.

The tall clan chief came in a raised an acknowledging hand. He spoke briefly of his gratitude to his clan. His voice was no longer the effortlessly carrying boom it had once been. It was a more normal voice now, although still deep. He seemed diminished in height by the absence of the energy he had once had.

No, Nelonn corrected himself. Firuun had the same commanding presence as before. He did not walk stooped over from his time in the short cell, because he had been moved out of there shortly after Delenn had exerted her influence. The 'prison' he had been moved to was a religious caste one, and full of more luxuries than his own rooms in the clan fortress.

No. Nelonn had simply grown to be nearly the same height as Firuun.

Firuun concluded his speech, and the assembly broke up and brought out tables, and had a welcoming feast. Then, by Firuun's custom and in honor of his late wife, there was a denn'bok tournament.

Only a few people participated, but Nelonn had two good rounds before the finals. In his first match, against an uncle-cousin of some kind, he found it ridiculously easy to avoid the standard opening two-handed smack, and sweep the front leg, unbalancing his opponent and riding him to the ground, ending up with his Pike at the other's throat in a matter of seconds. The middle aged warrior did not mind losing to the imposing figure of the tall young Anla'shok.

The second match, against a warrior only a few years older than himself, whom he had sparred against many times on Whitestar 97, took much more time. The two opponents knew all each other's tricks, and had both been instructed on fighting philosophy by Capt. Punch, who never counted an opponent out until he was unconscious or surrendered. But in the end, Nelonn's superior height, reach, and strength won the combat, as he simply knocked his opponent's weapon out of the way with brute force and then tagged him on the neck at extreme range.

Nelonn was in the final match, fighting against Firuun himself. Everyone watched intently, scarcely breathing.

Pike clashed against Pike. They circled each other, attacking, blocking, advancing, giving ground, crabbing sideways and attacking in what should have been unexpected ways, but never connecting. Both of them had the style of a bear, a big, strong beast, very tall when reared up on all fours. Both were used to being bigger and stronger than their opponent.

Nelonn caught a stray thought. This fight, against a very tall and strong young member of his clan, reminded Firuun uncomfortably of Sharn's death.

At any other time, Nelonn would have reacted to that thought with an offer of help, Venmer-style. But in combat, it was an opening. A weakness to be exploited.

Nelonn projected an image into Firuun's mind, just as he had projected the image of Lennier into Sheridan's mind. An image of Sharn.

But Firuun had fought a telepath before. He had fought Brinon.

Firuun shrugged it off and bulled through, and the attempt distracted Nelonn more than it distracted Firuun. He slid past Nelonn's guard and toppled him, denn'bok at his throat as Nelonn lay on the ground.

"I yield," Nelonn said at once. There was something in Firuun's eyes he didn't like.

Firuun retracted his denn'bok. "Telepathic projection. Probably works well against those who are not prepared. But not nice."

"Who told you to be nice in combat?" Nelonn asked, getting up and straightening his uniform.

Firuun shook his head.

Damn, Nelonn thought, in English. I wish I could have a beer.


	20. Chapter 20

The Windsword Clan

Story 20

Joy Digatoga watched Viri's next weekly session too. And then Viri watched, avidly, as Nelonn stripped for Joy to work on.

"Would you mind if I took some holo?" Viri asked Nelonn.

"I don't mind."

"I do," said Joy. "I'm sorry, Viri, I know the intent is completely different, but… they recorded me. On the battlefield, I took it for an official combat photographer. But they kept on taking vid, and stills, nearly the whole time. The idea creeps me out."

"Oh. Sorry," Viri said.

Nelonn lay on his massage table and helped Joy place the cups. All through Viri's massage he had been explaining the importance of getting the rows even, and giving her various other pointers.

"Remember," Nelonn said, "don't flip the switch."

"I know," Joy said. "That changes it from deep tissue massage to surface shock. And I won't turn it up past 3."

"Why does it even have a ten setting if you can't use it?" asked Viri.

"That is for people with nerve damage awaiting spinal replacement," Nelonn explained, "to prevent muscular atrophy."

"Oh."

Joy eyed Nelonn as if wondering if he made that up. Nelonn did not see it, since he had his face in the face hole, but he felt her stare, telepathically.

Joy started up the machine.

Nelonn's impressive muscles bunched and relaxed, bunched and relaxed.

Viri watched for a few minutes, and then she asked, "Recorded you doing what?"

"Viri… I was a prisoner of war."

"So, um, sitting in a cell?"

"I suppose it would be more accurate to say they recorded themselves."

"Doing what?"

"This, for one," Joy said, and turned up the dial.

"Oh. Oh! In Valen's name! I'm sorry. I'm so dense, Joy. But, why would soldiers take pictures of themselves, um, committing, um…"

"War crimes," Joy finished. "Because they didn't see it that way, I suppose."

Viri was silent for a few more minutes. But like many of Nelonn's clients – the better ones, for his purposes – she was incapable of staying quiet for long. Viri was one of the best gossips Nelonn knew.

"Have you ever seen any of it?"

"No," Joy said, startled.

"Would you want to? I bet the recordings still exist. Hey, I have an idea! If we collected them all, we could make a display on war crimes for the museum. That would shake up those stodgy fools at the gallery. Too pretty, my little toe! That'd show them."

"That would show everyone," Nelonn encouraged quietly. "That might actually be a worthwhile project, though I would hesitate to call it art."

Joy ran her fingers around the control box, deep in thought. "You know, I think it would be a worthwhile project. The average Minbari must not know much about that, since you didn't guess what I was talking about right away, Viri. It must not be talked about much. And I would have every right to a copy of any recording I'm in. I think I could get the owners to give them to me."

Viri said, "I think you just created a job for yourself, Joy. As my assistant in my next art project. The history of Joy. When they hear the title, they'll be expecting pretty flower still lifes and crystalline rainbow sculpture. They'll groan and tell me I'm wasting my talent. Won't they be in for a surprise."


	21. Chapter 21

The Windsword Clan

Chapter 21: Loose Ends

"I don't belong here anymore," said Firuun. It came out almost soft. He could still make the rafters ring – not that Whitestar 97 had rafters – when he needed to, but his usual booming voice had become subdued after his throat injury.

"You are still the best chief engineer and the best first officer I am likely to get," Khunnier said. Khunnier sensed that a long conversation was in the offing, so he relieved the crick he got in his neck from looking up at Firuun by clambering on top of an engine housing. He refrained from kicking his legs as he sat on his perch.

Firuun shook his head. "But you don't really need me. When I was – away— the second engineer handled the ship well, and Milenn has turned out to be a very competent exec. I would never have guessed. But then, I knew her when she used to complain about having to study and preferred to climb trees."

Khunnier just nodded. He knew Firuun was not done.

"When I first came onboard, this lot of young warriors needed a father figure. But they've settled down into routines, know what they're doing, and don't really need the old Clan Chief peering over their shoulders all the time anymore. Besides, it's peaceful out there now. This patrol corridor, part of the Alliance, is no different from patrolling the interior of Minbari space in a war cruiser. Except nobody has a private cabin and there are a lot fewer luxuries onboard."

"If you're looking for an interesting fight, I suggest that your clan fortress is not the place to find it."

"Maybe," Firuun scowled. "The negotiations with Clan Serati are still dragging on. Nobody's happy with the tie. And that girl I rolled over on my way to Brinon has gone on ISN pleading for her own clan chief to listen to her and make peace. She also accused us of trying to assassinate him. It's a mess."

"Ah. So you are not restless because you need more fighting than the Whitestar Fleet can currently provide. Nor do you want out of here because you were broken by prison."

"No, no. If that was going to happen it would have happened in the human prison. Humans can be so strange. For example, they have a very strange custom regarding soap. If you ever have the misfortune to find yourself in a human prison, no matter what anybody tells you, don't pick it up."

Khunnier just blinked. He did not understand the reference.

"Oh, and Khunnier… don't ever tell Sheridan I said that. He'd be livid."

"About insulting a custom?"

"No. Never mind. Nothing happened, really. I mean, I'm a seven foot tall Minbari. Some people will try anything once. But not twice."

"I do not understand."

"Nor should you. My mind is made up. I am not needed here. But I am needed at the clan fortress. Trouble may come. Serati is a small clan, with few clan alliances, but someone is backing them. Nelonn told me he thinks Shadow servants are involved. The Anla'shok are watching Serati, but if they simply try a straight invasion of the clan fortress, it will be a clan matter, and the Anla'shok cannot get involved. It is only a matter for the Alliance if the Drakh show themselves, and right now, they are perhaps too busy celebrating their victory."

"A victory that will never come," Khunnier said confidently. "Thanks to your daughter." He shuddered. He could not think about Dilis without remembering the horrible things that had happened on Desnara. But her cause was just.

And he could stand tall again; Nelonn had been right. Khunnier was a lot more confident now. He might still shudder, but he did not cringe and cower.

"No one knows that yet," Firuun said. "The people of Earth still think they're all going to die."

"So they must believe. So everyone must believe. Until there is enough cure ready for everyone."

"I know. And there is nothing further you or I can do about that. All there is now is the waiting. But I can go home and help my clan. It is my place, and my duty. And my honor. And my mess to clean up. I will go the next time we make port."

"Alright, Firuun. It has been an honor serving with you."

"Likewise. Your turn."

"What?"

"Something is troubling you. Something more than the silly brouhaha Nelonn has gotten mixed up in, with some worker caste artist and a substitute Carla figure, about some art project that has the whole military caste stirring around like an evalosh nest. Who knew my caste cared about art?"

Khunnier shrugged. "I had not heard of that, actually. Fill me in later. Yes, you are right, something is troubling me. It's my clan. They seem to believe that my stature as a Captain means that I should wed, and soon, even though I am still quite young. And they have found a candidate for me."

"Oh, no. Is she awful?"

"Well, I don't know. I've never met her. But naturally she is religious caste. I joined the Anla'shok to get away from that life. Spending all day praying. Meditating. Rituals for everything. Religious can't even eat without doing a ritual. I've gotten used to the more relaxed customs of the warrior caste, living as I do on an all-warrior caste ship."

"Ah. Well, I have the obvious solution. Marry a warrior caste female."

"Well yes, I supposed I'll have to. Finding my own mate is the only way out of an arranged marriage."

"If you do find one, will your clan allow you to make the choice?" Firuun was thinking of his Star Rider sweetheart, all those years ago, that his clan had not allowed him to marry.

"They will have to," Khunnier said. "Because when I joined the Anla'shok I became warrior caste. If they try to force me I will tell the female's clan that I have no intention of honoring religious caste customs in my home. And that will be the truth."

"I see." Firuun nodded. "I take it you have no one in mind? I thought the Clan Itma females were all over everyone at Nelonn's coming of age ceremony."

"Not me. I'm not a Windsword. They could not speak to me directly."

"Ah. And here I thought there was no one that Ilienn did not try to rope in."

"What, she tried for you?" Khunnier asked.

"She did. It would have been a customary match, according to the dalshon tradition. Carla's closest female relative, counting her adoption as becoming the daughter of their clan chief. But I will never marry again. I told her so. And so she went off to try her luck with the other unattached Windswords in order of rank. But nobody wants a wife who can't speak to outsiders. She could neither manage a household nor accompany someone on his ship. The dalshon will have to change that custom if they want clan alliances beyond the other dalshon."

Khunnier nodded.

"So. What about Milenn?"

"Milenn? Oh. I had not thought of her that way. But, I suppose… we do work well together. We get along. She is good at what she does. That is a start."

"It is indeed. I will speak with her."

"No, let me," Khunnier said. "If you speak to her about it, it will be clan chief speaking to clan member, and she might feel pressured to say yes even if she has someone else. The arrangements can be made clan to clan after I speak to Milenn myself. And after at least a few preliminary rituals are done. At least as far as the sleep watch."

Firuun nodded. "You are right."


	22. Chapter 22

The Windsword Clan

Story 22

"I'm ready to go," Carla said to Lyta. "This is actually kind of boring. I had no idea how much of a politician's day was spent sitting around looking at a computer. I thought Ike would be constantly gladhanding people, being in photo ops and getting involved in back room conspiracies."

Lyta said, "Are you sure? We've only been here for about 3 hours."

"I'm sure. I'd love to be able to talk with Ike, but we can't. I'm just standing here watching, and he doesn't know I'm here. So what's the point? Ike doesn't need me, anyway. It was just a whim to come here, since we were already on Earth."

"Do you want to go to someone who needs you?" Lyta asked, walking right through Ike's desk to stand closer to Carla.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I do."

"Saint Carla, patron saint of… what? Rangers? Prisoners of war?"

"Ack." Carla made a face. "Well, maybe. I don't think there are any wars going on right now, are there? Other than the war of Earth versus the Drakh plague. God I wish I could tell Ike he's going to live!"

"You know we can't do that."

"I know. Well, since we're here, let's fly around the city a bit. See the sights."

"OK," Lyta said.

They sprouted their white wings, passed through the wall and soared over New Orleans. "Look, a paddle wheeler. I guess they must keep that running for the tourists."

"The water isn't really very pretty," Lyta said. She did not have to raise her voice to be heard over the wind of their passage, since they were not actually interacting with the air molecules at all. The wings were purely psychological manifestations, to allow them to believe in their ability to fly. And to believe in themselves; to believe they were not just on the side of the angels, but were angels now.

"Old Muddy," Carla said. "That's it's nickname, so I guess it's supposed to be like that."

"So where do you want to go next?"

"Isn't it your turn to pick, Lyta?"

"It is, but I'm planning to go do some spying in Earthdome, and we could catch a ride out of there to wherever you want to go. I thought you might like to get back into space."

"Yeah. I'd like to go check up on my crew, if I could, but I haven't figured out how to teleport yet."

"Me neither. We'll get it eventually. Don't expect to have Jeff's kind of powers after only a year."

"Yeah. But anyway, I think I'd like to go to Minbar. So we'll have to stow away on commercial transport, I guess."

"Back to the hub," Lyta said. "Next stop, Babylon 5."


	23. Chapter 23

The Windsword Clan

Story 23

Nelonn placed the suction cups along the sculpted spinal muscles, on the firm, elastic skin. This was the first time he had had a female client his own age. The first time he had seen a nude female his own age. And he liked what he saw.

He liked what he heard, too. The sounds of relaxation, as he began. She was nervous, though. Almost as nervous as Joy had been the first time Nelonn had worked on her. There was something going on.

Whatever it was, Nelonn was sure he would begin to hear her surface thoughts soon. He never had to probe telepathically with any of his customers. They always relaxed and let down whatever natural shields or defenses they had developed after a few minutes.

Her muscles were bunching and releasing nicely. Her spine had an elegant straightness, leading up to the deeply carved slot-canyon channels of the back of her headbone. She was warrior caste, she had to be. Her headbone was far too ridged and pointy for the worker she claimed to be. Just as Nelonn's was.

Her nervousness subsided, and Nelonn eased into her surface thoughts like stepping into a room full of steam. She was Hielaani of Clan Serati!

Nelonn jerked and took a step back, and nearly dropped the control box. He fumbled it and caught it just in time.

That was why she was so nervous.

"So," Nelonn said. "You went to a lot of trouble to track me down and get alone with me. You know who I am, and I know who you are. This hour is yours. Say what you came to say."

Hielaani tried to sit up, said, "ow!" and settled back down.

"It is not a good idea to try to use your muscles while this is running," Nelonn said gently.

"This is not the most dignified position from which to negotiate," Hielaani said. "But I guess it will have to do. I thought about showing up at your clan fortress, but I was afraid they would think I came to plant a bomb or something."

"You never wanted a war between our clans."

"No, I didn't. Your clan chief frightened me. Badly. But this isn't about him, or me. And it certainly isn't about justice. My clan chief is has been acting weird ever since that Recnar showed up."

"With his backer," Nelonn added.

"Yes, with his backer. I don't know what he is, but he's sort of like some super-Minbari. I've only since the outline of his form filling out the hooded robe he always wears. Tall, broad, strong, a much pointier head than us."

"Drakh," Nelonn said.

"Drakh? Those people that poisoned Earth with that plague?"

"Yes, those Drakh," Nelonn said. He wanted to reassure her, but as he had over 'heard' Sheridan think during the Alliance's announcement about the quarantine of Earth, it was a terrible thing to know the future and not be able to tell anyone.

"Anyway," said Hielaani, "I have a way out. My clan chief will never agree to it, so we'll have to do it against my clan's wishes, which will be heard. But once it's done, if my clan chief doesn't accept it, I'm sure the others will depose him. Nobody but him wants to go to war against the Windswords. It's stupid, in addition to being immoral. Recnar's backers would have to have an army for us to use to have any chance at all."

"They probably do," Nelonn said. "The Shadow Servants are probably standing by in hyperspace even now, just waiting for an invitation to land armed forces on Minbar."

Her eyes widened. "I can't let myself be the excuse for that."

"So what are you proposing?" Nelonn asked.

"Marry me."

"What?"

"A Serati-Imbalo clan alliance will end this ridiculous war before it starts."

"Yes, it is sound strategy. I understand. I was just surprised. You see, I am barely past my majority."

"I know. I heard all about B—about what happened and why you left the ship. You might not remember me, but I talked to you and Brinon in the mess hall a few times. I know you were a child not so long ago. But I'm young too."

"I know, it's just—Hielaani."

"Oh! You do remember me."

Nelonn did not correct her. But she must have seen something in his expression, as she looked up at him from the right side of her face, turned to look over her shoulder as she lay on the massage table.

"Oh. No. You're a telepath, of course. That's why you were there. You were Brinon's apprentice."

"Yes," Nelonn said.

"Right. Well, it's just what then?"

Nelonn had been about to tell her that he liked males. But Hielaani was just as good looking as Khunnier, and Khunnier had made it clear he was not going to make a habit of being with Nelonn. And he certainly had to admire her strategic mind, to think of this plan, and her courage to carry it out against her clan chief's wishes.

"Never mind," Nelonn said. "I must speak with my clan chief. But for myself, I agree."

Hielaani grinned. "I am so relieved." Nelonn liked her smile.

The End


	24. Chapter 24

The Windsword Clan

Story 24

Nelonn sat up and slid off his sleeping platform. There was light in the small room. Where? What? Who?

This was the room he rented as part of his cover identity, a worker caste massage therapist. There was his portable massage table stacked against the wall.

There was Hielaani. This was the sleeping ritual. The light was on because she was watching him.

Who was he again?

Nelonn put a hand on his chest. To Hielaani the gesture probably looked like he was putting a hand over his heart to steady it from the scare that had woken him up. But he was really touching the area to see whether or not there were breasts there.

No breasts. Nelonn. He was Nelonn, not Carla.

"You are a troubled soul," Hielaani said. "Your true face is very sweet, and very sad."

"I have no true face," Nelonn said. "In dreams I walk in the places I've seen in the minds of others. Especially the one I imprinted on. I told you about how telepaths imprint."

"On the person around you with the most powerfully emotional dreams. Yes."

"It was actually easier when I first imprinted. Carla was still alive then, obviously. There on the ship, I would wake up, open my eyes and panic because I was in a room full of Minbari warriors. Then I'd look down at myself and I was one. But then I'd look across the room, and she'd be there. It was easy to re-center myself, realize I'm not her, when she was right there and I could see her. I thought it would get less confusing as time went on, but it's getting worse."

"Poor, sweet Nelonn." Hielaani brushed her fingers against his face. "I think I'm starting to love you."

The pause went on a little too long. Then Nelonn said, "I care about you, Hielaani. I admire your courage and your practicality in trying to patch things up between our clans. I think you'd make a fine wife. But I'm not sure I'll ever be able to love a female."

Hielaani sighed. "Perhaps you'll get better. Perhaps Venmer can help you."

"Perhaps," Nelonn allowed. "Will you return tonight?"

"I will," Hielaani said. She gathered up her things, put on her overrobe, and walked out into the grey light of early morning.

A few hours later, as Nelonn was on his way back from a client's home, a shriek cut through his mind so strongly he nearly crashed his groundcar. It took him a few moments to realize the shriek was his name. And the voice was Hielaani's.

From there it was only a matter of seconds before he reached out to her and located her. She had been caught sneaking back into her clan's cramped little mansion. She was being transported somewhere.

He opened his eyes inside her eyes, and saw what she saw. Her clan chief brought her to an anonymous warehouse in the port section of the city. A warehouse with distinctive and brand new air equipment, of the variety one would usually see on a spaceship. Lifesupport equipment, but for what?

It was grey skinned, bristling with horns, and it walked between the worlds with its steps out of phase with time. It was a Drakh!

"I'm coming, Hielaani!"

Nelonn did not even think of reporting to the Anla'shok and getting reinforcements. He did not think of contacting Entilza Delenn and having a fleet standing by. He forgot he was a Ranger. He forgot he was Minbari.

He even forgot who Hielaani was. All he knew was that an evil alien with a head full of horns was holding a young woman prisoner. And she needed to be rescued.

Nelonn found himself outside the warehouse. He did not remember how he had gotten there, and certainly did not remember picking up a energy rifle anywhere, but there it was in his hands. An unfamiliar design, very advanced and very Minbari, but he could figure out how to point it and shoot it easily enough, even if he did not understand the complicated targeting mechanisms.

He was inside. He did not know how he had gotten inside.

Hielaani. Victim. Female. Rescue.

Drakh. Alien. Kill.

Center mass. Double tap.

The Drakh went down.

"Fuck you, horn brain."

There was another alien. Coming toward Hielaani. He grabbed her.

Center mass. Double tap.

"Die, bonehead."

The alien went down.

Hielaani screamed.

Nelonn blinked, shouldered his rifle, and gestured for the female to come with him. He spoke to her, but she did not understand.

She said something in Minbari.

That was a language the Marine knew, though it was difficult to translate. The female was saying something about her clan. And about their god Valen.

"Come on," the Marine said – her voice sounded male, she must have a cold or something. The Marine repeated herself in Minbari this time.

Hielaani was weeping hysterically. The Marine grabbed her hand and pulled her along. Where was the exfiltration lander? Where was her unit?

Wait, no—there was no unit. She had killed her unit. Slit their throats in their sleep, their blood on her knife, on her hands, dripping all over everything…

Nelonn snapped awake when someone hit him in the arm. He startled and banged a hand on the steering mechanism in front of him. He was in a groundcar, parked next to a tall crystalline building.

Hielaani was sitting next to him, screaming.

"Shut up!" Nelonn yelled, in English.

She did not understand what he said, but he could feel her emotions change. From hate, fear, and grief to… what? Noticing him, he thought. Really noticing him. Attention, possibly even caring.

"Why did you do that?" Hielaani whispered.

"The Drakh had you. I had to rescue you. You wanted me to rescue you, I heard you call out for me in your mind."

"You heard me?"

"I am a very strong telepath, Hielaani. I would hear you wherever you go. If you shout like that, anyway. You screamed very loudly."

"I suppose I did," she said quietly. "But… but Nelonn… you killed my clan chief."

"Oh. The second person."

"Nelonn. Minbari do not kill Minbari."

"The part of me that killed him is not Minbari."

"You scare me more than the Drakh. What are you?"

"I told you and told you. Sometimes I think I'm Carla Punch."

"I know that! But when you talked about that, you talked about being afraid, traumatized. You talked about experiencing the horrors of the Tifar prison camp. You talked about nightmares, and uncanny knowledge, and dreaming in English. Not about murdering people!"

"Hielaani, I have the unconscious stuff she suppressed during the day. In the daytime she was Captain Carla Punch, famous Ranger captain. She had herself convinced she had no problem living on a ship with a Minbari warrior caste crew. She didn't even remember her own nightmares, unless I mentioned them to her. What I have is her dream self. First Sergeant Carla Punch, Gropo. Killer. Killer of Minbari. If you can't live with what I am, perhaps you should not marry me."

"Damn you! I can't just go home. There's more than one Drakh in the universe, you know. More will come."

"I don't think so. You said yourself the clan chief has no support in this. That woman who is his rival, do you think she would embrace the Drakh?"

"No, probably not," Hielaani said. She sighed. "Probably not. With her in charge, the war between Serati and Imbalo will probably be over before it starts. Unless they found out you killed him."

"Only you and I know that, Hielaani."

"And what do I tell them? That I killed them? I think not."

"Tell them a Ranger rescued you. Or a Marine. Either would be the truth."

"Or a telepathically imprinted ghost of a Marine." Hielaani made a face. "I will keep your name out of this, only to do what I set out to do, stop a clan war from happening. That was my goal and I will accomplish it. But I think our romance is over. I cannot lie beside a killer of Minbari every night."

"That is fair," Nelonn said.

"Bring me somewhere public, where I can be safe for a while, while my clan leadership sorts itself out."

"I could bring you to the Anla'shok base at Tuzanor. There are more than enough rooms there, and you would be safe for as long as you wish to be there."

"That is acceptable."

Nelonn drove off.

After a while, Hielaani said, "I really did like your sleeping face, Nelonn. But you need to be that person all the time, first, before anything else. I could love sweet Nelonn the family counselor telepath and giver of massages. I can't love Sergeant Punch as well."

"I understand."

The End


	25. Chapter 25

The Windsword Clan

Story 25

Venmer. Venmer. Venmer. I need to see you in person.

Nelonn? You are a powerful telepath, aren't you?

Are you busy?

No, you picked the right time of the evening. As you know, this is my routine meditation hour.

Venmer, I've done something. The imprint is too strong. I want it out of me.

You know that is not possible, not without damaging you. Functioning off the imprint is a normal stage of a Minbari telepath's growth. I hear it is different for other species. But this is a phase, Nelonn, and it will pass.

When? How many more will I kill?

Kill?

I didn't mean to admit that. Not yet. I wanted to speak in person.

This person that you killed. What were the circumstances?

He kidnapped a young woman. I rescued her. He was working with Shadow servants.

All part of being Anla'shok then. As is your instinct for secrecy. This is the life you chose, Nelonn.

This is the life SHE picked for me. And now SHE's taking over. Venmer. He was Minbari.

(A shocked, speechless silence.)

Venmer?

For a moment, you know, you sounded like a plaintive little boy again. Nelonn, you know that I am religious caste, and violence is not in my nature. But you are warrior, and it is part of yours.

I thought I was HER.

And if it had been her? Would you have admired what she did?

Yes! That's not the point.

Perhaps, for you, it is.

Master Venmer--

No, Nelonn. To accept that part of yourself, you must realize that judging yourself is counterproductive.

How can I not judge? What kind of person would I be if I didn't feel guilt for killing one of my own?

Post-racial?

What?

What kind of person, you asked. Think about it, Nelonn. Those who serve the Shadows are enemies, no matter what shell they wear. And those who kill those who serve the Shadows are not murderers. That is not the word. The word is Anla'shok. That is who you are.

But…

No. You wanted my advice, now you listen to me. I am old and wise, and that I why I am the Master. For a thousand years, 'Minbari do not kill Minbari' has been one of our most sacred traditions. Then we found out some humans had Minbari souls. And some Minbari, then, must have had lifetimes as humans. So what does 'our own' mean anymore? Perhaps you are the new breed. Those who judge others based on their actions, not on their species.

You make it sound… positive.

I know you, Nelonn. Your mind and soul are an open book to me. You do not need to have your imprint hacked out of you and dragged off trailing bloody vesicles, which is the only metaphor that fits for what you asked me for. You know this. You just need to work through this phase. And you do that, not by closing yourself down, but by opening yourself up. The imprint will go glassy and transparent inside you when you are so open that all the people around you spill through you like water over a dam. That is the next phase. You must lose yourself. And then you will snap back on yourself. And the imprint will have lost its power over you. It will always be there. You may always dream in English. But it will not feel like a second personality taking over.

Venmer saw a brief image of Nelonn lowering his head and his gaze in token of obedience.

Venmer smiled.

And what if someone finds out? Someone who does not understand what you understand?

That is a risk you must take, simply by choosing to continue to live.

I thought of going to my clan chief. But I can't admit to him how much of Carla lives in me.

Yes, I see how that might cause him grief. Yours is a life of secrets, Nelonn. That is the way of the Anla'shok. But there is one whom you must tell, is there not? Young ranger?

Oh. Entilza. I must report to Entilza.

Yes, you must.

Thank you, Master Venmer.


	26. Chapter 26

The Windsword Clan

Story 26

The silence stretched and stretched. Entilza's expression was hard and unreadable. But Nelonn could not help but feel the waves of conflicting emotion. Anger, yes, but at whom? At Nelonn? At the dead Serati? At the Drakh? At herself?

And pity, too, but also for whom? Nelonn? The dead Serati? Hielanni?

And something cold, calculating. That grew and washed away the others.

"It would be a terrible waste to let you confess this in public. You would go to prison. And I would lose your service, for all the bright potential of your youth. A waste. And very unfair, seeing that a human who did the same thing would be applauded. Venmer may be right. It may be time to consider a post racial form of law. Especially for the Anla'shok, who are composed of all the races of the Alliance."

That was a bit of an oversimplification; the Anla'shok were about 2/3 human and 1/3 Minbari, with a scattering of others, not all of them still Alliance races. There was, famously, a Centauri male prophet recruited by none other than the famous Capt. Punch.

"I must consult Venmer. Wait here."

Nelonn waited. Fear churned in his gut. He had not been afraid when he was in combat. This was Entilza Delenn, the great, the noble, the chosen of Dukat, a cherisher of life. She already said she was not going to allow him to be imprisoned. What could he be afraid of?

She was consulting Venmer, who had made his career helping victims of violence overcome their traumas. What could he have to be afraid of?

Yet he knew, with some kind of prescience that he had never before experienced, that something dreadful was coming. Perhaps his telepathic talent had burst the limitations of space and was now reaching out into space-time.

Delenn came back in. She had spoken to Venmer in her inner sanctum, and now returned to her living room.

She never met with Nelonn in her office, since he was an undercover operative. To the outside world, Delenn was just another client.

"There is a way to speed up the conclusion of this phase. Venmer was reluctant to mention it, and does not recommend it. I shudder to think of it, and will not order it, but I give you the opportunity to choose it over throwing your life away on Minbari law."

"That sounds ominous," Nelonn squeaked. He was annoyed at his tone; he was an adult now, and ought to sound like one. "But whatever it is, Entilza, if you wish it, I must—"

"No," Delenn said. "It is a choice. Not much of a choice perhaps, but a choice nonetheless. There is something that terrifies you. That you should already have confronted, in the way of the Anla'shok."

"Many things frighten that part of me that is not me," Nelonn husked. "What did Venmer say?"

"That in the absence of the person on whom you imprinted, the place in her dreams will do."

"Tifar? You're sending me to Tifar?" Nelonn's eyes widened. For just a moment, he was tempted to choose prison. But he rejected that. Entilza was right. If it terrified him, he had to confront it. That was the way of the Anla'shok. And it had always worked for Carla.

"I see Venmer did not overestimate your terror. This will serve three purposes. Firstly, in the way of the Anla'shok, you will confront your fear and overcome it. Secondly, to relieve your burden of guilt, it will serve as a punishment. And thirdly and most importantly, you will develop an entirely new set of traumas of your very own, fresh wounds that will wash away the old. Things Carla never experienced, and could not experience. So that when you think of Tifar from now on, you will picture your own body, and not hers. That will short circuit the imprint, according to Venmer. Who does not approve of this plan at all."

"If he does not approve, does that mean it will make it worse?"

"No. He says it will work. It is merely cruel, and perhaps illegal. Certainly immoral. Except to save you from a purposeless, wasted life of idle regret. That is the only reason I am proposing this solution."

"Entilza, you are clearly planning something beyond sending me on a tour of some buildings. Will you speak plainly?"

"Yes. I will send you with your – friend – from your training. Mark Slough."

Nelonn blushed.

"Yes, I am aware of your, ah, romance. Some trainees made a game of spying on other trainees, to prepare themselves for their future in intelligence work. They kept the Sechs fully informed of all that went on. You doubtless thought you were being discreet. I hope your tradecraft has improved since then."

"Hardly a romance," Nelonn mumbled.

"Your relationship, then," Delenn said. "Did you imagine I was unaware of your needs?"

Nelonn cleared his throat and looked at his feet.

"Be that as it may," Delenn said. "I have selected Mark Slough only because he is the only person I could think of who would be willing to do these things, and that you and I could both trust to return you to me fit for duty."

"Fit for duty," Nelonn echoed. "The same constraints that Comac operated under. That applied to Carla."

"Yes. The same. I wish I could think of some other way, Nelonn. But you are not fit to serve as you are. You are bursting with the desire to confess, and be punished and absolved. I cannot have a secret agent running around the galaxy screaming his guilt at every other telepath he passes, and according to Venmer, you are really quite loud inside right now."

"Oh. Oh. In Valen's name, you're right, he's right, I want out of this secrecy, but if I let it go I will no longer be a Ranger."

"That is so. Choose now, Nelonn."

"Secrecy and pain, and a way out and back to my service to the Anla'shok, or a lifetime of public shame and no chance to do anything useful with my talents," Nelonn said. "Ever. You are right, Entilza, it is not much of a choice. What will Mark – do?"

"I leave the details to Mark. I wish to know as little as possible of such things. Only that he will do things that could never have been done to Carla."

"You mean things that can only be done to a male," Nelonn whimpered. He closed his eyes and tears rolled down his face.

"Stop crying," Delenn ordered harshly. "I have given you more of a chance than the law allows, and I will have to keep your secret to save face for you."

"I know. I'm sorry. I don't mean to be such a, a child. I shouldn't be. Anymore. But I can't just shut off my emotions just because of a ritual and a number."

"What is your choice, Nelonn?"

"I'll go." He covered his face and sobbed.


	27. Chapter 27

The Windsword Clan

Story 27: Nelonn on Tifar part 1

"Would you relax already?" Mark whispered.

"Wrong thing to say," Nelonn whispered back.

He looked around the bridge of the Whitestar, which was deserted other than the two of them.

"Why are we whispering?"

Mark sighed. He returned his voice to its normal volume, which was still rather quiet. He spoke with an educated English accent, scion of old Earth that he was. "I don't know. There's only the two of us aboard. I suppose I should say, calm down. It's me. We've played before. Three times, a very Minbari number."

"Not like this."

"True. We'll be doing a few more things than simple flogging. You'll finally get your wish, I'll use your sucker wire rig. And I'll be turning it up high."

A spike of fear went through Nelonn's gut. "Why I am I afraid? I like sucker wire."

"And you like me."

"Yes. But this isn't play."

"Yes it is, Nelonn. I am not Comac. You have your safeword. Use it if it gets to be too much. Entilza Delenn said to give you your own set of memories of torture on Tifar, separate from Carla's. Things that were never done to Carla, and could not have been done. She did not say to actually hold you prisoner, and I'm not going to. This is play. It's your choice from beginning to end. If you want to walk away, you can."

"Some choice," Nelonn muttered. He did not elaborate. Apparently Entilza had not filled Mark in on exactly what Nelonn's two choices had been.

"Nelonn. You're a telepath. I should never have to guess whether I'm going too far with you. Even if you your breath leaves your body and you can't speak you can still tell me if something goes wrong. So calm down. Your life is not in danger. And you like being tortured, you little pain slut. You're going to enjoy this as much as I am."

They landed the brand new Whitestar on the military airfield. The landing zone had a bit of debris on it now; the last time it had been cleaned up was when Tifar made its unsuccessful bid for independence.

"I thought there was a garrison here," Nelonn commented as he brought the ship in for a landing.

"There is, but they use the commercial starport. It's a ground garrison only. This planet isn't important enough to rate a War Cruiser permanently stationed here. And the military airfield is only big enough for shuttles and fighters off a War Cruiser, not troop transports."

"Oh. Is that what you've been reading up on? The current situation on Tifar?"

"No, instruction manuals, actually." Mark flashed a page from his station onto the screen for a few seconds.

"Insertion of sounds? That doesn't make any sense. A sound is a wave form that travels through the air."

"Specialized vocabulary," Mark said.

"I speak English, remember," Nelonn said.

Their whole conversation had been in English, so Mark chuckled. "You'll see what it means soon enough."

"If you don't want me to be afraid, stop saying things like that!" Nelonn shrieked. His voice, which had recently been turning very low in accordance with his growing age, came out a bit teeny. He struggled to keep from bursting out in tears as he choked out, "instruction manuals. If you don't want me to be scared, I'd like to know you know what you're doing."

"Don't worry. They're quite thorough. With pictures, even."

"Renbor, our ship's doctor on Whitestar 97, had to rely on manuals on the computer for human medicine, since he'd only been trained to treat Minbari. Carla's hair fell out from malnutrition."

"Mm. Well. I see. We're here, lower the ramp and let's go."

They walked outside. The airfield was icier than it had looked from inside the cockpit. Nelonn had half expected to be bowled over by the smell of Tifar, so powerful in Carla's memories, but all the low wooden structures on the edge of the field had snow on their roofs. The only scent was the odor coming from the ship. Not exhaust; more like its biological scent.

Nelonn wondered if Whitestars sweat. Firuun would know. He briefly considered going back inside, calling him and asking.

"Come on, Nelonn," Mark said. "One foot in front of the other."

Nelonn didn't budge.

"They're only buildings," Mark said.

Nelonn took one step. His boot crunched in the deadly snow of Tifar.

He froze. "I can't."

"Come on, people are starting to stare."

Nelonn looked around. "What people?"

"Well, technically, there are no actual people out here, per se. The garrison has been told to leave us alone, and keep clear of the old buildings from the former POW camp. Ostensibly the Anla'shok are taking them over for wargames. But they probably have security cameras to monitor the landing strip. I would. So somebody might be watching."

"Wargames," Nelonn said. "And if someone happened to find out what we're really here for? They have their own human style news media here now, I hear. Some young amateurs, admiring the human reporters who came here to cover the FPFP gathering here. Wouldn't that be a nice headline. Human Ranger physically tortures Minbari Ranger on Tifar during wargame."

"Shut up and walk, Nelonn." Mark handed one of the ominously large suitcases to Nelonn. "Go into the building or go back into the Whitestar and leave. It's cold out here, dammit."

Nelonn took the case and started walking.


	28. Chapter 28

The Windsword Clan

Story 28: Nelonn on Tifar part 2

Nelonn busted up another old wooden cot and added the pieces to the pile.

The door slammed open and Mark dragged in a large metal tank. He closed the door on the swirling snowflakes.

"You're not going to—" Nelonn began.

Mark dragged the rusted metal box to the middle of the room. "No, I'm not. I know perfectly well what this was used for, and it's far too cold to do any submersion torture. Toss that wood in there. We're going to burn it."

"Oh." Nelonn tossed in the wood.

Mark lit it on fire with a PPG. "I know, not standard issue for a Ranger. I found this in one of the buildings while I was looking for a heater to turn on. A whole pile of them. Pile of uniforms, too."

"Dead mens' arms," Nelonn said. "Those that were killed in the Level 5 Test." The disgust in his voice did not keep him from drawing close to the fire and holding his hands out to it for warmth, as Mark was doing.

"Or in various mishaps. No, I don't think so. Wouldn't the dead have been buried in their uniforms?"

"Oh. Probably. Carla would have known. She did lots of grave digging on work details. That's how she learned the Song of the Dalshon. But I don't have all her memories. Just bits and pieces."

"Things she dreamed about. I would have thought that would be part of her nightmares."

"You'd think so." Nelonn shrugged.

Mark stepped back from the fire, which was starting to warm up the room. "Well, that's certainly better. Let's get started." Mark looked around at the aging, neglected equipment. "Hop up here." Mark patted a metal table.

Nelonn walked over to the dusty, rusting metal table. It was tilted like a sleeping platform, but had restraints at the four corners of the rectangle. "It's filthy," Nelonn protested.

"So it is," Mark said. "Hmm." He looked around. Then he grabbed a bucket and went outside, and returned with a bucket full of snow. He set the bucket next to the firebox. "Work detail. Clean the place up. You can start by going over to the building on the left and getting some old uniforms to use as rags. Then clean all this equipment. And the floor. We have to sleep somewhere, after all. Well, you can sleep up there, I suppose, that's the right Minbari angle."

Nelonn grumbled, "Work detail."

"You want the full Tifar experience, don't you?"

"I don't want any Tifar experience. This was Entilza's idea, not mine."

"Yes, well, confronting your fears is a standard Anla'shok exercise."

"I know. But combining confronting fears with creating new traumatic memories doesn't seem like it would work very well."

"No need for this experience to be traumatic, Nelonn. I'm planning to have fun, and I hope you will too. I will guide you through this without traumatizing you, I promise."

"Entilza Delenn's words," Nelonn said.

Mark made an exaggerated mock gesture of looking over his shoulder. He whispered, "Shh, don't tell anyone. But pinning on the Entilza brooch didn't make Delenn infallible."

"Mark!"

"I will carry out my orders without becoming an evil felon, thank you very much. Now hop to it, you've got a lot of work to do."

When Nelonn came back with the rags, Mark was not there. He came in a few minutes later with a very clean box, clearly something he had gone back to the Whitestar for. Mark sat on the box and watched Nelonn work.

"You know," Mark commented, "the work details were probably intended as a form of humiliation. Proud warriors doing worker caste work. But the human prisoners didn't think that way, so it didn't work very well."

"I've been doing worker caste work for a year," Nelonn said.

"Yes, poor you, giving massages to rich ladies. What a tremendous sacrifice of your Windsword pride."

"Are you jealous?" Nelonn asked.

"Me? No. Why should I be jealous, just because my former classmate has spent the last year surrounded by luxury, stationed on Minbar, pursuing his sucker wire fetish with a succession of naked women who pay for the privilege. How demeaning, worker caste work after all. While I, proud soldier of the Rangers, have been doing real military work on a remote listening post near the Outer Rim, all by myself, with the closest inhabited planet a dozen light years away and no women for another hundred light years beyond that. Because the planet I was spying on was Desnara, and they don't have any women there."

"Desnara? Really? What's going on there?"

"Nothing I can tell you about. Classified reports, go straight to Entilza."

"Oh. Well, if you know what's going on there, then you know there is at least one female. How is Dilis?"

"Who?"

"Come on, Mark. She's my cousin." Nelonn waved a dirty rag at him. "I remember when I was a little kid at the clan fortress, she was a few years older than me and very large. One day she got somebody's chestplate and shoulder boards and wore them around. They were way too big for her, and she had on a civilian dress underneath. I told you, You look like Deathwalker. And she smiled and said Thank you. Creepy. Anyway, how is she?"

"I have no idea who you're talking about, Nelonn. There are no Minbari on Desnara as far as any of the official broadcasts say."

"Well, of course not. They only use her title. Lehba. The alien teacher."

"The Lehba is a Minbari? Oh. My."

"What's going on? Nobody in the clan knows anything. How's the factory? How much cure have they produced? That's what Entilza wants to know, isn't it? That must be what you're keeping track of."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh. Nobody told you anything. Typical. How do you know what to focus on if they don't tell you what the intelligence priorities are?"

"Well, as I said, Entilza is not infallible. So what are you talking about?"

Nelonn shook his head. "It's a terrible thing to know the future. And not be able to reassure anyone. Because being reassured might alert the Drakh. That's what Sheridan was thinking the last time I saw him, before the whole Serati assassination thing."

"The what?"

"Never mind."

"What is this about knowing the future? Don't tell me that little Centauri bugger has set himself up as the Presidential prophet or something."

"No." Nelonn finished up the cleaning and started to pitch out the rags along with the dirty meltwater.

"Save those," Mark said. "We might need to clean up again after the session."

"Clean up what, blood? How far are you going to take this?"

"Hmm, well perhaps not. But better to be prepared. Here." Mark opened the box he was using as a seat and held out a slice of dark bread.

Nelonn stowed the empty bucket and came back to the fire. "What's this?"

"Supper."

Nelonn took it, but protested, "I thought you said you were going for the full Tifar experience. They didn't starve the prisoners, you know. Joy said she actually came home fatter than before, and had to lose a few pounds to be sent back to the front lines."

"Who the hell is Joy?"

"Joy as in A History of Joy."

"The war crimes exhibit? The one that was firebombed?"

"Viri was devastated. For about twenty minutes. Then she called a press conference. She's reveling in the publicity. She said she could never have become a famous artist just painting still lifes."

"Let me guess. They're clients? The female names gave it away."

Nelonn finished the bread. It had come from the Whitestar's galley, and was actually quite tasty.

"Alright. Let's try this out. Get up there on the platform and let me strap you in.

"Now?" Nelonn whined. "Work detail days aren't supposed to have any torture in them."

"Who says I'm going to torture you? Just get up there. No, not like that. Face down."

Nelonn let Mark put his wrists and ankles in the restraints. Then Mark loosened Nelonn's uniform, and pulled down his pants.

"Hey," Nelonn said. "I thought you said you didn't enjoy males. As a play partner yes, but not for…"

"Full Tifar experience," Mark said. "After the day's torture, or the day's work details, comes…" Mark had something cold and wet on his finger as he ran it menacingly down Nelonn's crack.

Nelonn convulsively twisted on the platform, pulling against the restraints in a sudden panic. When they had played together during their Ranger training, Nelonn had asked Mark to take and Mark had refused. Now Nelonn was about to finally get what he wanted and the environment of Tifar terrified him.

There was a sharp crack and Nelonn's elbow went right through the platform. The whole upper left side of the metal came loose, dangling from Nelonn's wrist by the manacle. Nelonn barked a surprised laugh.

"It's—rusted out," Nelonn laughed.

"It's not THAT rusty," Mark said. "Here's your first big different from Carla's experience. These things were meant to restrain humans. But you're a Minbari warrior in peak condition."

Mark unlocked Nelonn, helped him get down and inspected his arm to make sure he was not injured.

"Here. Go over to that one and pull on those restraints. Pull hard. Like you were really trying to—"

They popped off.

"Well, what do you know," Mark said. "I think maybe they designed these specifically so that if the prisoners ever got the drop on the guards, they could not actually chain them up in here and escape. These things are no match for Minbari strength."

Nelonn went over to another piece of equipment and tested his strength against it, too. It gave way. "I think you're right."

Nelonn turned back to Mark. "Do you still want to…?"

"Later perhaps." Mark shrugged. "I'm a human. It comes and it goes. Best to wait a bit. The truth is, Nelonn, those times during our training, it's not that I didn't want to take you, all trembling after a good session, lying there looking so sweet, and relaxed, with your sculpted statuesque musculature and everything. I'm bisexual. I'm just human. Humans can't always, well…"

"Oh."

"You know, you don't really look like a sweet boy anymore. You still are one, of course, but you're starting to look like a younger, fitter version of your clan chief. Are you still getting taller?"

"Not for a few months now," Nelonn said.

"Well, come over here by the fire. We might as well be comfortable. Come on." Mark drew Nelonn into an awkward one-armed embrace, sitting on the food box next to the burning furniture.

Mark said, "The last time a human slept in this building, your people were trying to exterminate mine. Now you're our friends and somebody else is trying to do it all over again."

"Don't worry about—" Nelonn started to say.

"What? Don't worry about the human race? We'll go on elsewhere? Or don't worry about Earth? Is that what you meant about knowing the future? Tell me, Nelonn."

Nelonn started into the fire.

"Knowing the future. Factory. Cure. I'm an intelligence officer, Nelonn, the same as you. I can draw a conclusion as well as the next Ranger. You know something about the Drakh plague."

"What I know, I saw in Sheridan's mind. It's a state secret. I'm sorry, Mark."

"Nelonn! I have family on Earth." Mark gripped Nelonn's bicep hard. "What is it?"

"Are you planning to torture it out of me? You're equipped for it."

"That's not funny."

The silence stretched on. Mark let go of Nelonn's arm. "Just tell me it all comes out alright in the end."

There was a pause, while the fire crackled. "It does," Nelonn said. It was the first time he had consciously told a lie for some other reason than to save face for someone.

The truth was, Sheridan did not know either. The future Dilis had come back in time with instructions, not reassurances. There was still the possibility that they were wrong. Or that they were right, but that Dilis couldn't ride the Desnaran tiger long enough to produce enough of the cure. Or that a Desnaran mob might destroy in her overthrow. Or the Drakh might hear about it and destroy Desnara.

And those were just the worries Nelonn had heard echoing in the back of Sheridan's mind while Nelonn was working on him. There were other ways it could all go wrong too. So it was just as well that the Excalibur and Galen were off on their quest to find a cure, because it might just be needed after all.


	29. Chapter 29

The Windsword Clan

Story 29: Nelonn on Tifar part 3

Mark started Nelonn out in the morning with some flogging on the back. The same thing they had done in their surreptitious play when they were in training together.

Nelonn was nervous at first because of where he was, but that faded after the first few minutes. The sharp snaps focused his mind on the here and now.

When Mark moved on to the sucker wire, Nelonn realized there was a great advantage to where he was. These shabby old buildings were isolated from the area being used by the garrison by nearly half a kilometer of muffling snow and baffling wooden and metal structures. No one was going to "catch" them, no one was going to interrupt them, no one was going to hear them. Nelonn could scream as much as he liked.

Nelonn lost track of how high Mark had turned the rig up. The wonderfully focused mental state he had enjoyed the past few hours turned to confetti and chaos.

Mark dialed it up again and Nelonn dissolved. He saw the red flicker of hyperspace.

There was a ship moving in it. Living beings within walked or sat at their stations. And two ghostly forms drifted through the walls. Carla?

She saw him. They both did, two human women.

Nelonn wanted to reach out to Carla and reassure himself that she was out there and he was in here, and she was dead and he was alive. That was what coming to Tifar had been all about, after all.

He tried to reach out a hand and found that he could not move his mental hand because his real hand was bound to a table.

In the real world, the pain ramped up one more time. Nelonn screamed. His vision went out in a swirling image of the two women looking startled and disturbed.

He was somewhere else, somewhen else. Some formless, timeless place.

The pain stopped. Nelonn lay gasping on a creaky platform. Not the one he had put an elbow through the day before, but an intact one that he had not been able to quite get all the rust off of on his 'work detail'.

Mark patted Nelonn's stomach. "That was all the way up. Level 10. You've been afraid to try the higher levels, you told me. See, it was nice, wasn't it?"

Unlike a human in that state of mind, Nelonn had not lost the capacity to think in words. Minbari did not fall into animal consciousness as easily as humans did. They were an old race, and far removed from the trees.

"Mark?" he grated, and immediately regretted speaking. That was the bad kind of pain. His throat was raw from screaming. So he just nodded.

Mark gave him some water, and then a little soft food.

Nelonn's breathing returned to normal. He felt completely wrung out, and was starting to fall asleep when Mark shook him.

"Did I say it was nap time? It's barely noon. There is a long day of torture yet to come. I'm just getting started."

Mark removed some of the wires, but not all of them. He just repositioned a lot of them onto Nelonn's balls, onto his member, and that little space between the sac and the perineum. There were two wires left. Mark left them off for now.

He started the sucker wire torture back up again, on random program. The jolts came in unpredictable places, in unpredictable intensities. Nelonn writhed.

He tried not to scream because it hurt to scream. But he could not hold his breath until he got dizzy like a human could. Mixed screams and gasps and choking sounds erupted from him.

Mark shut it off. He repositioned Nelonn's legs, binding them high, wide, and apart to give him access to Nelonn's arse.

Mark showed Nelonn a giant metal dildo. Nelonn did not say anything, but he thought clearly, That's too big. That's going to hurt more than I like.

Mark blinked, and patted Nelonn reassuringly on the inner thigh. "Don't worry, I'll be careful."

Nelonn realized his telepathic shields were down. Mark was hearing his thoughts.

Mark lubed Nelonn up with a finger inside. Then he moved on to an array of insertables of increasing size, taking his time, working them in and out ever so slowly, over the course of an hour or two, until he worked up to the metal dildo.

By the time he reached it, Nelonn was so stretched out and relaxed that it did not hurt at all going in. Nelonn was vaguely disappointed.

Mark chuckled and gave Nelonn the most sadistic smile. "Oh, don't worry, it's going to hurt a lot, very soon."

He stripped off the suction cup from one of the two unattached wires and wound it around the handle end of the metal dildo.

Then he turned it on.

The sensations were incredible. Nelonn was torn apart and blasted into space, and his mind looked down on the world from above. The white, shining world blanketed in snow, and the stars up above, down, all around.

Mark added in the rest of the wires that went to Nelonn's genitals. He screamed, he roared, the sounded deepened and roughened until he barely sounded Minbari. More like some beast of the mountains.

Mark stopped it again, and Nelonn whimpered. He wanted it back, he wanted more, he wanted to be zapped until his mind expanded to encompass the whole universe.

"Oh, you'll get more," Mark said. "Enough more to satisfy you for the next year, at least."

Mark stripped the suction cup off of the last wire. Then he opened the sterile box of sounds.

He grasped Nelonn's penis firmly, and positioned the end of the slender metal rod in the little hole on top of the penis.

Nelonn was suddenly afraid. He had never even heard of this torture.

Then Mark let it slide in. The sound inserted itself in the urethra by gravity.

Mark wrapped the final wire around the protruding bit of rod.

Nelonn burst into terrified tears and snivvled incoherently.

Mark turned it on.

The electricity went through the rod inside Nelonn's member. It was like nothing he had ever felt before. Like nothing he had ever imagined.

He was aware of himself as exquisitely, horribly, painfully, wonderfully male.

It worked, Nelonn thought at Mark. I'm never going to picture myself in Carla's body when I think of Tifar anymore. It worked. You can stop now. Mark? It worked.

Mark flipped a switch. But he did not turn it off. He added back the rest of the wires. The electricity flowed everywhere, all at once: the two metal insertables, the outsides of the penis and balls, the soles of the feet, the nipples, everywhere.

Nelonn shrieked once and then fell silent, struggling to breathe, then suddenly hyperventilating and spinning away from the world in vertigo and sudden mental expansion.

For a moment he thought he was going to stretch to encompass the universe, just as he had wished. Then he was back in the room and staring past Mark—at Carla.

Oh no. Mark. Now I'm seeing things! I've gone completely insane!

Mark shut down the rig, and Nelonn nearly fell unconscious in relief. But he wanted to see what happened next, so he struggled to stay awake.

Mark turned around, and took a step back.

"Who are—" Mark began. But no Ranger could fail to notice her uniform, and the Anla'shok pin worn proudly over her heart. "Are we needed for something?" Mark asked, assuming the grey haired woman Ranger had been sent by Entilza.

"What the hell is going on here?" Carla demanded. Her eyes flashed in anger, and her white wings unfolded from her back.

Mark dropped the control box and backpedaled in panic, putting the platform on which Nelonn was bound between him and the creature whom he had thought was human.

Carla started forwards grimly, and Nelonn realized she was really there. Mark could see her too.

No. Stop, Nelonn thought at her. Don't hurt Mark. He tried to break his bonds and stand up, but he was too exhausted. He knew that he could have busted out of them this morning when Mark put them on, but right now they were the only thing keeping him from sliding off the platform onto the floor, because he was weak from taking the torture.

Instead, Nelonn opened up his mind to Carla. He showed her everything. Hielanni, and the Serati clan chief, and Entilza Delenn, and Venmer, and then backward, back, back, Nelonn and Mark sneaking around Tuzanor trying to find a private playspace, Nelonn's training at the hands of Brinon, everything, all at once.

Carla staggered and put out a hand as if to steady herself. Her hand went right through the end of the platform. "I see," she whispered.

She turned to Mark, understanding in her eyes now. "Get him out of that. It's over."

Carla looked over her shoulder and called, "You can come in now, Lyta. I haven't whirred anybody into little bloody chunks."

Lyta strolled through the door without bothering to open it. White wings, white dress, flawless white arms: unlike Carla, Lyta looked like a classical painter's angel. Except for the red hair; that was slightly devilish.

Nelonn heard Mark think, fallen angel.

"Do you know what we have here?" Carla asked Lyta. "A pipeline. A way to get what you find out when you spy on the PsiCorp successor organizations and former members into the hands of the powerful. You said yourself you were tired of trying to contact telepaths, and having them be unable to do anything with what you found."

"The organization Garibaldi set up is becoming quite rich and powerful," Lyta said.

"Not like the Anla'shok," Carla said. "Nominally under the control of the Alliance, but answering only to themselves, to their own leader. Above any local security forces. You couldn't ask for a more perfect vehicle."

"Why not just appear to Sheridan and Delenn, then?"

"Because," Carla said. "I would end up working for them instead of being in control of what we gate through. I know myself. If I appeared to Entilza I would start acting like a Ranger again instead of an ascended one. It's too much a part of who I am. And anyway, Jeff warned us both not to hang around people we were too close to in life. Just visiting Firuun at the clan fortress was bending the rules, even though he never knew I was there."

"You always cared about Nelonn, too," Lyta reminded her softly.

"Hell with the rules. This is too good an opportunity to pass up. Nelonn called out to me in his mind. Across space, across time – it took us a week to get here, and he only called out to me a few hours ago – and across the gulf of death."

Carla turned to Nelonn, who was free of his bonds now, and being helped to stand up by Mark. "Your talent is amazing, Nelonn. Do you know how rare it is to be able to communicate telepathically with one of us? Only we ascended ones are expected to be able to do that. I think you could become one of us someday. Lyta and I will share the Middle Races' gift with you. As they shared it with us."

"Yes," said Lyta. "That's a great idea. She's right, I think you could learn how to ascend, if you work at it. You have a very powerful mind."

"Me?" Nelonn asked. He glanced at Carla, and thought, I've come a long way from the stupid bonehead kid I used to be.

It was strange to see an angel blush. Carla had no physical body, so it was purely an illusion.

"Yes, you have, Nelonn," Carla said. "And I think you can go a lot farther."

The End


End file.
